Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The catalyst for this one is seeing Rogers accusing Tony and/or Rhodes of doing the same thing for each other that he did for Barnes — you know, hurt and kill innocent civilians and destroy roads, bridges, and airports — and Tony and/or Rhodes sheepishly acknowledging that yes, they would in fact do those things and thus, stop holding Rogers accountable for those particular actions.

Sorry, but that's crap, because canonically, they don't. Rhodes does not destroy Afghanistan in IM1 while he's looking for Tony, and Tony doesn't level Tennessee while rescuing Pepper in IM3. So seeing them written as apologists for something they did not do to justify inexcusable actions irritates the hell out of me. 

Therefore, I present: 

Would Have Done

Despite literal years of experience, in both observation and participation, Tony Stark would never stop being astonished at seeing just utterly stupid politicians could be.

Case in point: since Matthew Ellis didn’t need to worry about running for reelection, he’d decided to push through pardoning Rogers and his motley crew because ‘it wasn’t fair to let other countries take on the burden of housing a team of super-powered Americans’.

Which would have been fine, had he actually thrown their sorry asses into prison. But nooooo. No, can’t do that. Because then he’d have to admit that he screwed up in not just allowing Steve Rogers the freedom and power that the man had never earned and didn’t have the slightest clue how to use, but also in refusing to rein him in. He was a battering ram, nothing more . . . but he was dangerous because he believed his own press releases and genuinely thought he was both invincible and always, immutably right.

Romanova knew better, and Barton probably did as well, but they went along with it because she could manipulate Rogers at will, and Barton just liked blowing shit up, something Rogers excelled at. Wilson . . . all the evidence pointed to him removing his brain and leaving it in a jar by the sink approximately five minutes after meeting Rogers. And Maximoff would say and do whatever it took to make sure the so-called ‘greatest tactical mind of the century’ continued to function as her emotional sugar daddy. Lang had, at least, found the intelligence to run screaming back to San Francisco and the not-remotely-tender mercies of Hank Pym, while Hope van Dyne moved to New York to join Tony and Rhodes’ new team.

Still, Tony being, you know, Tony Stark, had enough influence to refuse to allow them to live in any of his or SI’s properties. He’d also refused to work directly on their team, but unfortunately, every so often, a mission called for all twelve of the current active roster of Avengers and this had been one of them. Surprising exactly no one but Rogers and Maximoff, the five people operating under War Machine’s command had caused almost no property damage and there were no civilian casualties, and fewer than ten injuries, none of them serious.

Rogers' team, however . . . yeah. Suffice to day, somewhere around the destruction of the third building, the Accords Panel had gritted its teeth and started preparing a certain set of paperwork. The only reason there weren't any major civilian casualties caused by the group of rampaging elephants — sorry, team of enhanced idiots; elephants would actually have been less destructive — was due to Spiderman's securing the perimeter, and not stopping even after he'd cleared everyone out, because Rogers in particular would not stay in an already-cleared area. But the kid was brilliant, resilient, flexible, and mentally adaptable. He did the impossible this time and kept the civilians who were too dumb to leave safe, having figured out quickly that the Rogues were really, honestly unaware of their surroundings. 

Or, even after everything, they still expected Tony Stark and/or SHIELD to clean up after them and pay for the damages, so they didn't think they needed to care.

Whatever the reason, despite a small number of civilian casualties, none fatal or serious, the amount of destruction the five-man team of Rogues caused exceeded $10 million, while the team under War Machine had caused damages less than $60,000, and most of that was unavoidable, since it had been caused by an alien who'd played dead and tried to use the building as a battering ram.

Suffice to say, neither the UN nor the Accords panels were happy about the results of this mission, since it was their necks on the line in spite of Ellis’ moronic decision to simply issue blanket pardons for the US, and all five members of Rogers’ team had accrued their first strike — something that Tony was 99.9% certain they were unaware of because he knew damn good and well that four of the arrogant fools hadn’t bothered to actually read the conditions of their pardons before signing them, and none of them had really looked over the revised Accords, either. Romanova he wasn’t sure about; she was definitely intelligent enough to understand them, but her arrogance and ego were such that Tony honestly wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t bothered to read them either.

But they’d all said that yes, they had read and understood both documents, so — since they were all legal adults — those in charge had accepted that, with the understanding that they also accepted the consequences for breaking the rules and conditions listed therein.

At the moment, though, that was all a moot point. Tempers were high because they had just finished the mandatory post-mission debriefing, which had been ruthless in pointing out the deficiencies — no, the fuck-ups — involved, all of which were all caused by Rogers’ team this time, when Barton made a snotty comment about Tony still not being a team player and finally pushed things too far.

But it wasn’t Tony who went over the edge.

“Enough, Barton!” James Rhodes bellowed, lunging to his feet. His chest was heaving from the force of his fury and the entire room went dead silent at his outburst. “You can’t find your ass with both hands, a map, and a flashlight if someone doesn’t give you step-by-step instructions, whereas Iron Man has the knowledge, experience, and initiative to think for himself and find other, potentially better, solutions. More importantly, he has earned my trust in his abilities and therefore, my permission to make a decision or alter my orders if he truly believes it’s necessary, and he will explain his reasoning to his team once it’s safe to do so.”

He paused for a few heartbeats, breathing heavily, before pinning the stunned Barton with a contemptuous look and finishing, “I wouldn’t trust you to teach a rock how to fall off a cliff without Romanova holding your hand and a back-up rock. And since you were the one who abandoned his post because Romanova got a hangnail—”

“Hey, that is completely uncalled for,” Rogers interrupted, giving Rhodes the disappointed look that irritated the hell out of virtually everyone who knew him. “There is no need to denigrate Clint or Nat for being partners. Just because you don’t have that bond doesn’t mea—”  

He was interrupted by the harsh laughter of not one, but two men: James Rhodes and Tony Stark.

“Don’t have that kind of bond?!” Tony finally managed to wheeze, tears of mirth streaming from his eyes as he slowly got himself under control and straightened, giving Rhodes a quick look to see if he was similarly recovering before looking back at Rogers. “I know you’re oblivious to — well, to just about everything, but were you actually serious, Rogers?”

The blond frowned, clearly disliking the scornful derision he didn’t understand but just as clearly unwilling to admit his lack of knowledge lest people think he wasn’t actually perfect. It took more of his control than Tony liked to keep from rolling his eyes at this display of hubris while Rhodes took the opportunity to try, yet again, to educate Steve Rogers on something he should have already known.

“When Tony was abducted in Afghanistan, who do you think led the search?” he demanded in scathing tones, the fire in his eyes working a minor miracle by refusing to let Rogers look away. “That would be me. And it wasn’t just because he’s my closest friend or that I was the military liaison to Stark Industries. It was because I had the training, the experience, and the rank necessary to handle the search.”

The pointed reminder of things that everyone knew Rogers himself did not possess made him bristle, but Rhodes didn’t take the bait and further antagonize him. Instead, he took a deep breath and forced himself to be the professional that he was.

“Did you know, Rogers, that the search should have ended at four weeks? But because of who Tony is, and who I am to him, I got special permission to extend it for another fourteen days. But after that, without so much as a hint of a lead, I was forced by the powers that be to call it off. It had reached the point of diminishing returns.” This got him a blank look that finally made Rhodes roll his eyes. “We were pouring massive amounts of time, effort, and money into something that was achieving zero results. And despite the snide remark I can see in your eyes, Rogers, yes, money is important. Without it, things cannot get done.”

Rogers was obviously torn between frowning in confusion because he didn’t understand the point of this tangent, and protesting that money shouldn’t matter. Rhodes and Tony both sighed on seeing it, but neither bothered to address it. Hopefully, things would become clear in a few more minutes.

“But because I know Tony,” Rhodes continued, “I kept searching on my own. Which means, Rogers, that I did not use the military’s resources. I used my own. My money, my time, my effort. I called in favors I was owed, promised new ones, and did everything I reasonably could as a civilian to find Tony. I didn’t even ask Pepper to let me use SI for help, because at the time, they weren't an international company and that would have either broken laws or violated company standards and agreements.”

Rogers’ frown deepened, but he said nothing, and Rhodes decided to take that as a positive sign, though it also irritated him enough to let it show just a little.

“Do you know what else I didn’t do, Rogers?” he snapped, clearly startling the other man. “I didn’t just waltz into a country where I had a potential lead. I asked permission and if I was denied, I didn’t go. Did I hate it? Of course. People were denying me the chance to look for my best friend, my brother. But they had the right to do so and since I wasn’t 100% certain he was there, I had no counter-argument. When I was granted permission to enter and search, you know what I didn’t do? Attack the officials and local law enforcement they sent to accompany me, because I was American military coming to foreign soil on personal, non-military business, which is frequently a cover for spying. I obeyed the rules and boundaries I was given and at no point attempted to threaten or harm my escorts. And the civilians I came across, well . . . I did try to ask if they knew anything, but if they didn’t or just didn’t want to talk to me, which was most of the time, actually, then I let it go and moved on. I didn't hurt them or destroy their homes and towns because they were keeping me from finding my best friend after he'd been abducted by terrorists.”

Rhodes stopped there and leaned forward, his eyes going dark and cold as he effortlessly stared the other man down. “You’re trying to justify your rampant, wanton destruction by telling yourself that anyone else would burn down the world to save their best buddy. Wrong. What James Buchanan Barnes is to you, Tony Stark is to me. But I’m not the kind of man you are, and even if I were, Tony would have been horrified, furious, and heartbroken to find out I’d hurt innocent people while I was looking for him. Hell, I try not to hurt innocent bystanders when I’m guarding his back on a mission! He wouldn’t even have liked it if had happened should I have found him first and actually rescued him,” Rhodes sneered, making Steve blink and swallow. He was clearly shocked at being so blatantly called out with reasoning he couldn’t instantly refute.

While he was spluttering, Tony laid a hand on Rhodes’ shoulder and gave him a proud smile. “That’s my Platypus,” he praised. “Badass to the bone.” His gaze shifted to Rogers and darkened with disgust. “As for me,” he spat, leaning forward and glaring so furiously at the blond that a few sparks formed on the table, “I was in the same situation when Killian took Pepper. I went after her with everything I had, yes. And I killed every single one of his goons, thugs, and associates who got between me and her and stayed there. But not ONCE did I hurt a civilian. I worked my ass off trying to direct the fight to a less populated area for the sole purpose of reducing casualties and property damage. And when I couldn’t do it, and people were hurt anyway, I apologized to them and their families. I personally helped them rebuild and offered money for hospital and living expenses. And you know, not everyone accepted,” he added, startling the entire room. “A few of them refused because they knew it hadn’t been intentional and they could clearly see our efforts to keep them safe and actually said that I shouldn’t be held responsible for something I could not stop or even really control. One couple refused my help because Killian did the damage and they wanted him — or rather, his money — to pay for it.”

For a few seconds he paused, clearly remembering those events, then pinned Rogers with another dark, angry glare. “But I still took responsibility and apologized and did what I could to help them, to make things better,” he seethed. “If there wasn’t video evidence proving it, you won’t even admit you were there when things go wrong. And it’s always someone else’s fault. Every. Single. Time.”

He stopped again, breathing heavily, his rage palpable, and Rogers swallowed. Barton and Wilson were shocked, while Romanova looked calculating and Maximoff, as always, sneered. Rhodes genuinely could not understand why the UN had decided to allow her back in such close proximity with Tony, given her loud declarations of hate. More importantly, he couldn’t figure out why they were forcing Tony into the same position.

(two days later, he would discover it was part of a joint UN/Accords Panel plan to . . . encourage . . . the people who thought ‘fostering the ‘idea of reconciliation’ is better than admitting your mistakes and forming a better, stronger reality’ to finally see sense. Neither entity could tell America (or any country) not to do something specific in their own country, but they could at least attempt to mitigate the results for everyone else. That was why Russia’s famed Black Widow program not only petered out less than two decades after the UN’s inception, but wasn’t replicated elsewhere: the UN had made it impossible for those operatives to act freely, even when they did so illegally.)

“You see, Rogers, despite your belief that you and only you are right and know what’s best, other people’s thoughts, opinions, and actions matter,” Tony informed him in an icy voice. “And like Rhodey, I understand that Pepper’s life isn’t worth more than anyone else. I mean, to me personally, yes, she’s everything. But Rhodey’s right: I would have been furious if he’d hurt anyone but the people who kidnapped me. Pepper?” He and Rhodes both shuddered. “She’d have skinned me alive and covered me in salt if I deliberately hurt people for her sake.”

Tony’s rage flared higher when Rogers got a mutinous look and said, “Those people were trying to kill Bucky.”

And finally, finally, Tony Stark exploded.

It was glorious.

“NO, THEY FUCKING WEREN’T!!!!” he screamed, surging to his feet in his pure, unadulterated rage. “THE SIX-YEAR-OLD BOY IN BUCHAREST WAS NOT TRYING TO KILL BARNES!!! THE 82-YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER WAS NOT TRYING TO KILL BARNES! THE 24-YEAR-OLD PREGNANT WIFE WHO WAS AT HOME WHEN YOU PUT HER BERLIN POLICE OFFICER HUSBAND IN A COMA DIDN’T KNOW WHO BARNES WAS! NOT ***ONE*** OF THE 38 CIVILIANS YOU KILLED OR THE 99 YOU INJURED WERE TRYING TO HURT BARNES. NOT ONE OF THEM EVEN KNEW WHO HE WAS!!!! THEY WERE LIVING THEIR LIVES THAT DAY, UNTIL YOU, THE HUMAN WRECKING BALL, DECIDED THEY WEREN’T IMPORTANT AND ENDED OR DESTROYED THEIR LIVES FOR NO REASON OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT YOU’RE A LAZY, ARROGANT, UNTRAINED, HYPOCRITICAL MORON WITH AN INFERIORITY COMPLEX THAT MAKES JUSTIN FUCKING HAMMER LOOK LIKE EINSTEIN!!! AND EVEN NOW, YOU **STILL** DON’T GET THAT!!!!”

Silence filled the room as Tony fell back in his chair, panting from the force of his emotions, and raked a shaking hand through his hair. It took nearly three minutes for him to regain control, but once he did, Rhodes took one look at his eyes, swallowed hard, and involuntarily straightened into military attention. Stephen Strange took a deep, measured breath and subtly summoned his magic, just in case Rogers was stupid enough to push Tony again.

Everyone on Rogers’ team shifted warily, belatedly realizing that holy shit, Tony Stark really was dangerous — he was not the man-child that Romanova had tried so hard to convince them he was. He was a man who had been born and raised in not just the business world, but one of the most cutthroat parts of it, along with being exposed to the media since the literal age of four. He was the man who had single-handedly recovered or destroyed not just the illegal caches of SI weapons, but also the terrorist groups who had them. He was the man who had successfully been Iron Man for four years without any outside help with remarkably little avoidable collateral damage.

He was the man who should never have succeeded, because despite the advantages he’d been born with and to, so many people had stacked the deck against him and opposed him, hurt him, and tried to destroy him, that a weaker man would have given up and let himself lose. But he was Tony Fucking Stark, so despite everything, he had achieved more than anyone could have dreamed — and not just because he refused to let his detractors win. It was because he could and did adapt to the situations so he could create and implement working solutions.

And then there was Steve Rogers, displaying his complete inability to learn even the most basic of life’s Rules for Best Survival by attempting to argue with him.

The Accords Panel liaison, who had been caught just before the door with the UN rep when Barton set things off, swallowed hard and then heroically threw himself in front of the lava flow raging from Mount Stark and snapped, “Enough, Rogers! Dr. Stark is completely correct, but right now, that’s beside the point. We were going to inform you in two days, after the paperwork was filed, but clearly, you can’t be trusted to stay here and out of trouble, so this is your official notice that you and your team have accumulated your second strike. Per the conditions you accepted when you signed the pardons, you are now on restricted probation. That means you will be removed to an UN-approved holding facility immediately and placed into remedial basic training so you can learn some discipline and control. And if you refuse,” he continued, giving Rogers’ entire team an icy look, “then you can go directly to prison.”

When outraged shouts filled the room and weapons started to appear, Strange and FRIDAY reacted instantly, and within a minute, Maximoff was out cold, Rogers was groggy and restrained, and the rest were firmly cuffed. Twenty minutes after that, a team of UN troops was unceremoniously hauling them down to transport vehicles, and two days later, Rogers would get his third and final rules violation strike, along with Maximoff and Barton, and all three would finally be tried and convicted for most (though not all; bureaucracy was universal, unfortunately, and some smaller offences were left by the wayside in pursuit of bigger ones) of their crimes. A horrified Wilson just walked away, unable to handle the truth about Rogers that he’d refused to see for more than three years, while Romanova did the impossible and pissed off the newly-rebuilt SHIELD so badly that they turned her in themselves.

To the embarrassment of politicians across the globe, it was seeing people held accountable for their actions and fairly punished when warranted that finally jumpstarted the process of recruiting, training, and building teams of enhanced people. And those same people were also finally forced to admit that despite his media-skewed reputation, Tony Stark did not fuck around when it came to the safety of the world. More importantly, he had actual proof and evidence of the threat coming from the stars, and once he was able to show it to people that Romonova couldn’t manipulate or the ones who thought Rogers really was a tactical genius, well . . . things got done. So when Thanos arrived, they were prepared. And ultimately, they were victorious.

And it was ultimately because Tony Stark refused to do what Steve Rogers would have done.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Not a Child

When James Rhodes, aka War Machine, discovered Spiderman’s civilian identity, it happened under less-than-auspicious circumstances — and he was, to put it mildly, seriously pissed off. Like the professional he was, however, he said nothing about this revelation until the mission was successfully finished, clean-up was safely handed over to the company hired for that specific purpose, and the post-op debriefing was done.

Once all the professional Avengers business was completed, he watched with narrow eyes as Tony and Spiderman, one Peter Parker, aged 16, exited the room and headed directly for the penthouse so they could change and eat before, from their conversation, going to the lab to start making notes on possible upgrades for both of their suits. Rhodes wasn’t stupid; he knew perfectly well that Tony was avoiding this conversation and damned if the colonel was going to allow that. His idiot friend had recruited a literal child to fight Rogers and his band of merry morons in Germany, which was more than bad enough, but then he’d compounded that stupidity by not only giving him Stark tech, but was also bringing the boy on Avengers’ missions.

Clearly, someone needed to inform one Anthony Edward Stark that he was a fucking moron, selfish, self-centered, and too impulsive for everyone’s good, since he’d learned nothing from the disaster of Leipzig Airport.

Rhodes had to actually jog to catch up to them and he still had to wait for the elevator, but he managed to catch them both after they’d changed into street clothes. Hearing Tony blithely ordering enough food for a college football team while trading friendly insults with Peter only irritated him more and his voice was sharp when he said, “Tony, I need to speak to you privately. Now.”

Now, in Rhodes’ defense, Tony had always been accepting of the necessity of his friends bringing him down a peg or three when his arrogant behavior got out of hand.

“No.”

So hearing Tony’s refusal, delivered in a dark, cold voice, caught Rhodes more than a little by surprise.

“I—” he began, only to be steamrolled over by a visibly angry Tony, with Peter standing silently at his shoulder, looking at Rhodes with a kind of contemptuous judgement that he couldn’t even begin to process, it was so unexpected. 

“No,” he said again, sounding dangerous in a way that Rhodes hadn’t heard in . . . since the first time Tony had spoken Rogers’ name after Siberia. “We’re not doing this. You seem to think that you have some kind of moral superiority and the right to lecture me about the stupidity of bringing a child to war, because of course, it isn’t possible that I’ve already considered that and chewed myself out for it a few dozen times. And there’s no possible way that Peter and I have talked about it, or that his aunt and I have discussed it. No, clearly I’m utterly oblivious to my so—intern’s age, even though we’re standing in my penthouse, where he has his own room, and has been working directly with me for over a year now.”

Tony paused, the ice in his eyes somehow getting both colder and harder, and Rhodes swallowed, suddenly feeling ashamed. He had thought exactly that, and it was humbling to be forced to realize that despite old habits, Tony wasn’t actually a child. Nor was he stupid. And actually, when it came to other people, he wasn’t even that impulsive. Before he could follow that last thought any further, Tony kept going.

And Rhodes’ shame burned hot and thick as his own hubris, his own arrogance, was shoved back down his throat.

“In the normal course of events, no, I wouldn’t have brought Peter to Germany,” Tony began, making a very obvious effort at tamping down his anger. “But when I first went to see him, all I knew was his name and the fact that he’d been successfully operating as Spiderman for more than six months, protected by nothing but a onesie, and I genuinely thought he was a college student — and he was good at capturing people without violence or injury, which was exactly what I needed. So when I talked to his aunt first, because Peter wasn’t home yet, I told her he’d been accepted for an SI grant and internship, and I was there to escort him to a weekend convention in Germany. Yes, I lied to her, but I didn’t know if she knew his secret and since I thought he was a legal adult, we can all agree that at that moment, it wasn’t my responsibility to tell her. That . . . that came later,” he added quietly, shame flickering across his face, and Peter stepped forward, squeezing his shoulder and murmuring something that Rhodes couldn’t hear. Whatever it was did the trick, because Tony’s expression lightened a bit.

“So then here Peter comes, waltzing through the front door, in all his high school glory — and I cannot say a damned thing, because I’ve already set the stage. And, frankly, I needed the help. Ah-ah-ah!” he snapped, cutting Rhodes off before he could object, even though he didn’t know what he actually wanted to say. “Before you bristle at me, look me in the eye and tell me that you thought for a second you thought that fight would happen, that Rogers would go that far off the rails,” he challenged, eyes blazing now, and Rhodes slowly shook his head, because he hadn’t expected Rogers to just start throwing punches — hard, brutal, deadly punches. And now that he was thinking back, he also remembered hearing Tony instruct Spiderman to web away that damned shield, but other than that, to stay on the sidelines and not engage.

Which meant . . . he had tried to keep the kid safe. It wasn’t like anyone could have predicted that bastard Rogers would drop a gangway on his head with no warning. Or that Spiderman would hold his own against Wilson and Barnes with no real trouble or injury.

But he was still a child, not of legal age, and Tony had had no right to bring him into that situation.

“We can argue right and wrong all day, Rhodey,” his friend said quietly, suddenly sounding very tired. “But here’s the thing: not only is it between me, Peter, and his aunt, but it’s done and over with. I can’t go back and change it, and honestly? I don’t want to. Too much good has from it, you know?” he added almost shyly, giving Peter an affectionate look that shocked Rhodes out of a year of life; Peter ducked his head, a smile curving his lips, before he bumped his shoulder against Tony’s in silent solidarity.

The older man grinned in reply and ruffled the kid’s hair, ignoring his faint squawk of indignation, before once more fixing Rhodes with his gaze, now dark and serious. “And you don’t get to lecture me about it, or treat me like a child who needs to be told that touching a hot stove is bad. I’m not stupid, Rhodes, or oblivious. I know exactly what could have happened and at the time, my choices were grabbing a razorblade in my bare hands, or a live electrical wire. I made the best decision I could and now I have to live with that.”

“So do I,” Peter suddenly interjected, moving to stand next to his da—mentor, and giving Rhodes his own hard look, which both startled him and helped explain why Tony hadn't tried to send the kid away or takes Rhodes off to have this out privately. “When Mis—when Tony first came to ask me to go with him, I could have refused and made some excuse for my aunt. He wouldn’t have stopped me, or tried to change my mind. Hell, he almost talked himself out of it after I made some stupid excuse about homework, until I finally put together the thing with the Accords and him asking me to show Rogers that other heroes supported them. I had to make that choice, and I chose to go with him. Did I know what was getting into?” he asked rhetorically, nodding at Rhodes’ pained expression.

“Not really. But neither did you or Tony. On the flight over, he explained exactly why he’d asked me to come and what he expected to happen, and I still could have backed out if I’d wanted; he wouldn’t have forced me to join you guys, after all,” he said a touch scornfully, making Rhodes mentally squirm at that uncomfortable truth. Not for a second did he think Tony would have done so, but the fact that the kid felt the need to make that point . . . well, it didn’t speak highly of his opinion of Rhodes, and after the revelations he’d just heard, the man couldn’t blame Peter for feeling that way.

Oblivious to his thoughts, the young man kept talking. “It wasn’t supposed to be a fight, and you don’t get to blame anyone for it but Rogers and the idiots following him. And yeah, Tony and I had some issues after that, which we had to work out. And yeah, my aunt flipped out when she found out I was Spiderman and Tony had been helping me. But we, the people directly involved, have worked it out. And you know what? None of that is your business. You don’t have to like it, but you don’t get a say in it. And if you feel that you can’t keep working with me in the field, then fine; I’ll work exclusively with Tony. We’ve done that before with no problems, so . . .”

Rhodes blinked in astonishment at what he’d just heard as the kid trailed off, his points made. He hadn’t been schooled so brutally since a week before graduating from boot camp, and he didn’t like it. Especially given that it had come from a teenager who couldn’t legally drive.

But it was warranted, and they all knew it. The fact that both a 45-year-old man and a 16-year-old boy had been the ones to tag-team him and burn the arrogance out of him was . . . humbling.

“You’re my best friend, Rhodey,” Tony told him quietly, stepping forward and finally showing some emotions that weren’t anger, though that hadn’t faded. “And you know that I respect you and your opinion. But I’m done with you — I'm done with everyone — acting like I’m a man-child who can’t think for myself every time I make a decision you don’t like, agree with, or immediately understand. I have had enough of people, especially ones who are supposed to be my friends, telling me how stupid and arrogant and foolish I am while acting like none of you have ever made a bad decision in your lives, or fucked something up beyond repair. I’m sick of being treated like I’m the only person who ever makes bad choices, and I’m tired of the automatic assumption that everything I decide to do is a bad decision, or at the very least rash and ill-thought-out, without anyone bothering to ask questions or even take five minutes to think about it, much less try to see my perspective. I’ve put up with it for way the hell too long, and I’m done. It stops now."

Two deep breaths and some soft words from Peter later, he looked back at Rhodes.

“For what it’s worth,” he continued, tilting his head back and giving a rueful smile that made something deep in Rhodes’ chest ache, “I’ve had this exact same conversation with Pepper. I don’t mind you guys challenging me if you don’t understand. I know I need that sometimes. But this? The instant assumption that I'm wrong or made a stupid decision or just did something dumb? No. Talking down to me like I’m stupid, explaining to me just how moronic I am for deciding something for myself that you wouldn’t do? No. Because while Romanova and Rogers made that their personal method for ‘managing me’,” he sneered, eyes flaring in remembered resentment . . . just before he verbally punched Colonel James Rhodes so hard in the throat, he couldn’t breathe for a solid two minutes.

“You and Pepper and even Happy did it first.”

Shame rose in the colonel’s throat, hot and thick and smothering. He tried hard to shove it down, but the memory of his condescension and snide superiority when Tony was trying to explain why he’d decided to shut down SI’s weapons production would not be pushed aside. He’d done a lot of damage to their relationship that day, even though Tony had never explicitly called him out on it, and one day, he’d have to truly sit down with his friend and talk it out. And then apologize, because he had been a world-class jerk about it.

But not today; he had different apology to make now.

“You’re right,” he rasped, his voice thick with shame and remorse. “You’re right. I don’t — I can’t be okay with a literal child fighting the kind of threats we handle, but that’s for me to deal with. I would like to meet your aunt,” he said to Peter, temporarily redirecting the conversation, and feeling gratified when the young man blinked once in obvious surprise before nodding in instant, understanding acceptance, before turning his full attention back to the man he had wronged so heinously. “But you’re right, Tony: I’ve gotten in the habit of trying to manage you like you’re still that kid I met at MIT, and you aren’t. Neither of us are.”

His eyes guarded, Tony slowly nodded. It was clear he didn’t completely trust what he was hearing and Rhodes couldn’t blame him, given not just their shared history, but Tony’s history with just about everyone in his close circle. Did it hurt, not immediately having his best friend’s support and unconditional trust? Yeah, it hurt like hell. But Rhodes only had himself to blame for letting himself become the man who didn’t truly trust or respect his best friend, and so he had no right to complain that he’d lost those things, or that it was obviously going to take time to rebuild them.

But James Rupert Rhodes had never backed down from a challenge in his life, and Tony Stark would always be worth the effort.

“I’m gonna get better, Tones,” he vowed, straightening his posture and holding that intense gaze with his own, eyes burning with promise. “I will. But it’s gonna take time, and effort, and I’m gonna mess up on occasion. When I do, I want you to call me on it, okay? I mean that, Tony,” he insisted when distrust and uncertainty flickered across his friend’s face, hating that both emotions were warranted. “I do. But more than that, I need you to not give up on me. You’re right: it’s an old habit and those don’t break overnight. I wish I could, but . . . well. Can you give me that, Tones?” he beseeched, leaning forward a little to emphasize how serious he was, how much he meant what he was saying. “Will you trust me enough to wait until I catch up with you?”

There was a long moment of stillness. But Tony Stark’s heart had more room than the vastness of space, and he loved James Rhodes like no one else. Not even Pepper or Peter. So after an eternity of searching Rhodes’ eyes, his best friend nodded and then caught him in a completely unexpected hug.

“Of course I will, Platypus,” Tony mumbled into his shoulder. “Of course I will.”

And with that, James Rhodes’ world righted itself, at least for the time being. He had a difficult road ahead, but not once would he let that deter him. Along the way, he also acquired a nephew that he adored beyond reason and would swear on a stack of Bibles had to be Tony’s biological son, because he just had to be. But he also acquired a new appreciation for not just Tony’s genius, but his tactical skills and business acumen. And this time, when he told Rhodes that there was another alien invasion headed their way, the colonel listened to him, believed him, and started reaching out so they could be prepared.

When Thanos came, he sauntered straight into a trap that he didn’t walk out of.

And it was made possible because the world was finally forced to accept the fact that Tony Stark was not a child.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Show Me the Money!!! (pit)

Some days, entertainment just falls from the sky, like a gift from the heavens.

And sometimes, you have to make your own.

Like now.

Being the superhero he was, Tony Stark heroically held back a sigh as Steve Rogers pushed himself out of his chair and took an aggressive stance. According to the chart FRIDAY had just thrown up on the wall, where only Tony was looking and thus the only one to see it — in neon pink writing with violent orange glitter accents, really? — this was the fourth time in eleven days Rogers had pulled this particular move.

“You’re so selfish, Stark,” Rogers sneered, looking down on Tony with that air of superiority he’d had since literally the first minute they’d officially met, which caused FRIDAY to add a second chart, this time in in acid green and school bus yellow, showing it was the man’s ninth time spewing that phrase in the last — what the hell, he’d said it that many times in a week?

Oh, wait, they hadn’t all been said directly to Tony. But he’d still said them — and FRIDAY was tracking them, with permission from the Avengers that he knew full well they hadn’t actually understood when they’d agreed to his terms for living in the Compound after being pardoned and subsequently grounded to the US for the next two years. Still, it was so familiar that Tony mentally mouthed along with the words. It was like listening to a broken record, complete with that scratchy screech that only comes from a bad DJ. He felt a coma from incipient boredom creeping up on him even as he leaned back and spread his arms across the back of the chair, waiting for the second half of the insult/reprimand/whatever it was the man was droning on about. “All you care about is yourself and how to make more money you don’t need.”

Oh, really, that old trope? Tony had naïvely hoped in the beginning that maybe the capsicle had an insult or three he hadn’t heard yet, but given that the man had been defrosted for going on six years and still struggled with using a standard flip phone, he really had that tired accusation coming. Especially since he’d been listening to this crap — from every single one of them — since literally the beginning of their acquaintance. But he was finally more tired of them and their attitudes than he was willing to be their doormat to maintain peace (however false and malicious that ‘peace’ was). Honestly, he should have put a stop to this years ago, before Ultron, but his self-esteem had been . . . well, non-existent, and so he kept letting the insults and putdowns and hypocrisy slide in his efforts to make everything else work.

But that was then.

And unfortunately for Rogers, Tony wasn’t just a genius, philanthropist, billionaire, former playboy. He was skilled at reading people . . . when he felt like it. He just rarely felt like it, especially deeper than a surface scan if he didn’t actually need to, since — like most engineers — getting too deeply bogged down in what made people tick tended to wreak havoc with his engineering and inventing skills. But beyond that, he was a numbers guy and he was exceptionally good at what he did.

So he tuned out the subsequent lecture on how awful he was for wanting to organize his time and prioritize his company over Avenging, since the former wasn’t just how he made his livelihood, and thus, how the ‘team’ was able to live such cushy lives themselves — and wasn’t it funny how none of them objected to that? — but it was also how the nearly one million people SI employed across four continents made their livings.

“—ed to stop being so selfish and self-centered and understand that we can’t work with substandard equipment while you’re off ‘playing’ with meaningless toys,” Rogers was fuming when Tony finally tuned back in after deciding that the updated Stark Tablet was the better option to concentrate on (there was only so much improvement you could really make to a phone, after a certain point), mentally rolling his eyes at the man’s ignorant drivel. It was hardly his fault that Barton didn’t see the need to maintain any of his equipment that wasn’t his bow, which had resulted in the strap on his quiver snapping at a truly inopportune moment. Hell, Maximoff didn’t even bother with that. And Rogers being Rogers either failed or refused (Tony could go either way on that) to understand that not cleaning your bodysuits and neglecting everything that wasn’t a weapon was a bad idea, as it naturally resulted in unnecessary damage due to extra stress that the material simply wasn’t designed for.

And that wasn’t taking into account the fact that simply going over your equipment yourself often showed weaknesses or stress or dangerous pressure points that he, their tech guy, could easily fix if he knew about them. But apparently, Tony was supposed to be a mind-reader in addition to being a tech whisperer. Which, yeah, he was the latter, but again: he couldn’t whisper to tech that he didn’t know was hurt.

Simple logic.

And thus, something that utterly escaped not just Rogers, but everyone else on his team.

Ah, there was the migraine. Right on time.

But that last snotty demand made it Rogers’ tenth offense in seven days. And why was that important? Well, it triggered a certain protocol Peter and Pepper had dreamed up a few weeks after he and Peter had had . . . well, to be truthful, it had been an epic screaming match. Peter had been justifiably upset about his belief that Tony hadn’t taken him seriously about the Vulture and the Chitauri weapons, while Tony had been equally justified in his fury that despite repeated and explicit warnings, the kid kept throwing himself in the middle of situations he could not handle because he simply didn’t possess the knowledge or experience. And once they’d shouted themselves hoarse, they’d mutually agreed that they’d both handled things poorly and resolved to do better (and if Tony had gotten actual hives from the discussion and Peter had ended up with hiccups for two days, well, whoever was spreading those rumors was a lying liar who lied, Rhodey).

Pepper and Rhodes, who’d watched warily from the sidelines from the second or third shouted accusation, both literally pulled muscles laughing at them. And five minutes after being released from Medical with ice packs and ibuprofen, the IronDad and SpiderSon jokes had begun.

But he digressed.

“I know,” he drawled, tilting his head back in a deliberately arrogant angle and grinning openly when Rogers gritted his teeth in response, nostrils flaring. “How silly of me to put my employees first and make sure they’re taken care of, which helps ensure that my company continues to grow and thrive.”

Barton scoffed at that, echoed by Rogers and Maximoff, while Wilson sneered again and said, “Stop making excuses, Stark. You don’t work for SI anymore, s—”

Wait, what? What the hell was — oh, right. Romanova. She probably genuinely believed that, but even if she didn’t, she’d still push that opinion at the team, because it was a good way to undermine Tony.

And for years, it had worked.

Well, no more. Tony had been thoroughly educated in just how bad he’d let things get, and how much bullshit that was. He made mistakes, sure, like every other human being on the planet, but he was more than those mistakes — and not everything he’d done had been a mistake. That lesson had taken a lot longer to sink in, but Peter and Pepper and Rhodey were nothing if not persistent (there might or might not have been a PowerPoint, but none of them were willing to confirm that).

And they had finally crossed the final line.

Tony. Was. Done.

“This is where you zip it. The successful businessman is talking now,” he snapped, seeing Peter smother a grin and appreciating the kid’s twisted sense of humor. Not to mention the irony. “Let me explain this to you so you’ll actually understand. I promise I won’t use words with more than two syllables,” he continued, feeling his eyes ice over as he slowly rose to his feet and gestured. FRIDAY immediately responded by pulling up a spreadsheet showing each branch of SI, broken down by department, then total number of employees, then total cost to run.

And as promised, he explained it exactly like he would to a group of kindergartners.

“This is an itemized list of exactly how much it costs SI to run each department,” he said coldly, pacing in front of the screen and giving each moron staring blankly at him an equally cold look. “For comparison, about three years ago, a few of the Board members proposed the idea of eliminating all of the physical employees except those who work in Legal and our Creative Department so we could replace them with automated assemblies, run by a specially-designed AI.”

Surprise and confusion blossomed across everyone’s faces, but none of them actually spoke, not that Tony gave them a real chance to. “Well, Pepper and I were horrified by the very suggestion, but we knew we couldn’t just dismiss the idea out of hand; there were too many people who potentially agreed. So I ran the numbers.” A wave of his hand resulted in a second spreadsheet, with the resultant cost per department highlighted in yellow. Everyone’s eyes went wide at the massive difference between the cost of people and the cost of machines.

“Exactly,” he agreed, once more pacing in front of the screen. “Firing 98% of my employees would save SI nearly half-a-billion dollars a year. The board was actually salivating at the thought,” he hissed, anger flaring back up at the memory of that meeting. “But I don’t play that game, because I know from personal experience how much more people can do than machines when the chips are down, and so does Pepper. So we told the ones who were in favor of this scheme that in order to implement it, they would have to go to each and every employee individually and explain that they were being fired because machines were cheaper. A machine can’t innovate, and has no intuition, and can’t differentiate between moods, but hey, they’re cheaper. The Board would have to tell each person to their face in a one-on-one conversation that they hadn’t done anything wrong, but their paycheck and health insurance and daycare were being taken away not because the company was in the slightest danger of financial trouble — actually, we netted almost 70% profit that year — but that wasn’t enough for the Board, they wanted more.”

Now the fools who called themselves ‘heroes’ looked sick, but Tony wasn’t done yet. “And then, after they did that and individually fired each person in every department of each branch of SI, they would have to fire themselves and forfeit their retirements and dividends and stock options. Because if machines were so perfect that no humans were needed, then there was no reason to maintain a Board of Directors. The machines could decide what products needed to be invented and invested in, and since we’d have all that extra profit at our disposal, we could just re-invest ourselves instead of risking their money to do it.”

He finally stopped, breathing heavily to control his anger, and glared at the assembled asshats, who were — shockingly — giving him matching disapproving looks at how mercenary he was being. After listening to Rogers lecture him on his greed and selfishness.

While Peter had moved to a corner and had actually webbed his mouth shut to keep from laughing out loud.

God, he loved his kid.

“So don’t talk to me about greed,” he snapped, pointing aggressively between the two numbers that mattered the most to a group of people who were too stupid and ignorant to understand any of it. “Especially since not a single fucking one of you actually work for a living. You’re perfectly happy letting me be your sugar daddy, and I let you, so that’s on me.”

He paused, savoring the confusion that was slowly crossing each face, and added, “But not anymore. In fact . . . FRIDAY, be a dear and contact Representative Hudson, would you?”

“Of course, Boss,” she replied. The Rogues' confusion deepened as the sound of a ringing phone filled the room, but before anyone (well, Rogers; despite his hatred of public speaking when it came to mission fuck-ups, he was perfectly happy being the primary person to castigate Tony) could gather the wit to speak, the call was answered.

“What can the Accords Council do for you, Doctor Stark?” she inquired as the room shimmered and a hologram appeared, showing the seven council members seated at their new round table and looking curiously at Tony.

“You can activate the Money Pit clause,” he replied cheerfully, giving FRIDAY the signal to replace the company data with the charts showing the Rogues’ offenses and slights that were both about money and directed against Tony. “I know several of you wondered why I insisted on that clause being added, and then why I set the break line as high as it is, but . . . well, see for yourself.”

He gestured widely, indicating the entire screen, which was duplicated on each council member’s personal tablet. And because she was a very thorough AI, not to mention vindictive (as were Pepper, Rhodes, and Peter, whose brainchild this protocol had initially been), FRIDAY also included clips of each occasion of the Rogues making disparaging remarks to or about Tony.

There were a lot of them.

Like, a truly appalling amount. Even the German representative was shocked, and he’d once had a bridge collapse beneath the car he was in.

“I see,” Petrovic finally said, her voice shaking a little. “What, uh, what option did you wish to take?” she asked carefully, meeting his gaze in a deliberate snub of the baffled team watching them with wide eyes.

Hmm. He hadn’t thought that through quite all the way, had he?

Decisions, decisions . . .

You know what, he was pissed off and feeling a little vindictive himself. And the stress these assholes had put him under for the last few days had caused him to actually have Engineer’s Block, which wasn’t good for the continued health and well-being of himself or his company.

Also, it was just plain rude.

“Let’s put it to a vote,” he replied, watching with thinly-veiled amusement as the Council collectively choked in surprise while the Rogues continued to stare in confusion.

And Peter actually turned around in his corner, shoulders shaking from the force of his laughter. A hundred bucks said he’d be on the ceiling in the next ten minutes.

“So, Rogers and Company,” he said, sweeping his hands around in a meaningless but fun grandiose gesture as he gave them his full attention for the first time since the lecture had commenced. “You have violated the Money Pit clause, leaving you with two choices. You can choose to continue living here, but you will immediately begin paying rent at the current fair-market price, which is . . . oh, thanks, FRI,” he said to his darling AI as she obligingly put those numbers up for everyone to see. “Looks like it’s $8000 a month per person. Now, that does include water, trash, sewer, cable, and wi-fi, but not the current cleaning service. You will also be responsible for your own food and the cost of any equipment I provide, a percentage of which will be negotiated with the Accords Committee, since they’ll have to make up the difference.”

He stopped and watched with unabashed glee as everyone but Maximoff turned varying shades of green or white. Not a single one of them could form words, which was immensely satisfying to see, and Tony felt zero shame for enjoying it.

And he wasn’t done.

“Or,” he continued, trying to keep things professional (though he probably failed, given the fact that Peter finally couldn’t take it and did, indeed, climb to the ceiling so he could lose himself in hysterics to his heart’s content), “you can immediately move to an Accords-approved location and just pay back the full cost of any and all equipment and maintenance I’ve provided starting from the day you signed your pardons.”

Again, being the wonderful — and wonderfully spiteful — AI that she was, FRIDAY tossed those numbers up as well.

Wilson actually fainted when he saw just how much his (stolen from SI, thank you very much) Falcon wings cost to build, and the expense of maintaining and upgrading them was a similar amount. None of them owed less than two million dollars.

The rest of them all went Hulk-green, to the point that Tony was suddenly seriously worried about finding himself in the middle of vomit-fest, which . . . gross. Romanova, however, would die before showing anyone that kind of weakness, Barton wasn’t about to let her out-do him, and Maximoff hated Tony too much to let him win. Rogers was just too dignified to throw up in public, apparently.

Well, thank heaven for that. Tony paid his cleaning staff very well, but there was a limit to what they could reasonably be asked to do.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t push the envelope. Not much; it was clear he was toeing the very edge of the line, but his entire life had been about finding the limit (of everything) and then obliterating it. But there were levels of obliteration and not everything had to be punched into submission.

This was a lesson that Steve Rogers still hadn’t learned.

“Of course, either way, you’ll all have to get jobs,” he cheerfully informed the leeches who had masqueraded as his team for so long. “Minimum wage will be rough, too, even though I’ll be nice and charge you the ‘at cost’ price instead of the final retail value we typically set. And I’ll just charge one combined consultant fee instead of five,” he added comfortingly, watching out of the corner of his eye as Peter was forced to web his feet to the ceiling to keep from falling as he once again convulsed in hysterical laughter. “But entry level and minimum wage . . . well, that’s the only thing most of you are qualified for. Due to conflict of interest, I can’t hire you for SI even if you were qualified., which none of you are, and for the same reason, neither myself nor SI can provide references, as you’ve never worked for either of us, so . . . yeah. But you do have some options among fast food or retail or maybe a call center, which is a plus.”

He stopped again, noticing for the first time that every single member of the Council was in the same boat as Peter: trying to hide their amusement and what looked a lot like vicious satisfaction at this long-overdue and equally deserved comeuppance.

The Rogues, however, collectively appeared to have been hit by a bus.

Which was what happened when you pissed off the only member of the team who could stop one with his bare hands: he ended up hanging from the ceiling and laughing himself sick. So, really, they only had themselves to blame.

And on that note, Tony was done. He deserved to break out in hysterical laughter too, dammit, but he couldn’t as long as they were in the room. But his self-control was fading fast, so he subtly cleared his throat and addressed both groups.

“I think that four days is enough time to come to a decision,” he mused, mostly to the Council, as he studied the calendar on the bottom corner of the screen, before turning to the Rogues so he could fully enjoy this. “That will put us at two days before the end of the month, which will give you enough time to pack and move out if you choose that option. And if you decide to stay here and pay rent, we can avoid any prorated charges and just start fresh. Oh, that reminds me: if you decide to stay, we’ll need a non-refundable $1000 security deposit as well as first and last month’s rent up-front. Just in case,” he finished, sounding positively gleeful and not giving a damn.

“Is that acceptable to the Council?” he inquired, turning to face them fully. He knew that Romanova understood just how screwed they were now, though whether she’d actually tell anyone was another matter. And if he didn’t leave the Compound immediately, and maybe the country, she’d be riding his ass for the next four days, trying to blame his ego while simultaneously flattering it, in hopes of getting him to knuckle under again. The fact that he’d finally learned to recognize her manipulation techniques still hadn’t registered in her own egocentric head and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. But he didn’t feel like dealing with it, either. So when Hudson took a quick silent vote and got approving nods from the other six members, he grinned.

“Of course, Doctor Stark. That sounds more than reasonable,” she told him before getting out of her chair and moving to stand next to Tony. And even though she was a holographic image, her disgust was palpable. “I’d tell you how despicable you are, but it’d be a waste of breath,” she informed the group, eyes narrow and contempt dripping from every word. To Tony’s resigned acceptance and the Council’s obvious shock, this blistering condemnation did not provoke even the slightest hint of shame or remorse.

Instead, it made Barton and Maximoff sneer with affronted pride, Wilson (who had only just come to) straighten in clear insult, and Rogers puff up like a peacock. Romanova was the only one who maintained a neutral expression, but it was a thin veneer at best. Thankfully, Hudson had raised several children, so she was easily able to head off the obvious tantrum. “You will be in the Accords New York location tomorrow at 9am and we will discuss the logistics of things,” she snapped, eyes sparking with anger. “Doctor Stark’s presence is not necessary, but you five will be present and on time, or your pardons will be revoked and you will be sitting in a prison cell by noon while we arrange for your criminal trials. I’d tell you to have a good day, but I wouldn’t mean it and I refuse to lie for no reason. Therefore, we will see you at 9am.”

And with that, she made a sharp cutting gesture and FRIDAY obeyed, ending both the projection and the phone call, while Tony moved smoothly to the door. Peter hastily tossed his dissolving solution on the webs covering various parts of his person and met him there, eyes glowing with humor and so much pride that Tony actually stumbled. Even now, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with pride and approval, though he’d finally learned not to brush it aside. Instead, he pulled his kid into a side-hug before opening the door.

But Peter, demon-child that he was, paused just over the threshold, leaned back inside, and chirped, “You know, this is an excellent time and place to talk about your life choices.”

And before anyone could blink, including Tony, the little bastard shot three layers of webbing across the table, catching everyone’s hands and literally forcing them to stay seated for the next two, maybe three, hours.

His self-control finally snapped and Tony doubled over, laughing so hard tears came to his eyes, while Peter spun around to face him with the biggest shit-eating grin Tony had ever seen that wasn’t on his own face, and stepped forward to snatch his dad in a giant hug.

“Congrats, Dad,” he said loudly enough to be heard by everyone on the floor. “You’re finally free from the money pit. Now will you buy Hulu for me?”

And Tony, still wheezing with laughter, could only shake his head. “Yeah, Pete,” he finally managed, turning them both around so they could leave before the affronted looks from the conference room set him off again. “I’ll buy Hulu for you. Do you think Pepper would like Baskin-Robbins?”

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

R.E.S.P.E.C.T. (Look and Listen)

Respect can take a huge variety of forms.

Some of them are obvious, with no room for misinterpretation, while others are subtle and shaded with meaning for each individual.

On one random Thursday early in July, Peter Parker got a lesson in both.

Now, on the surface, this was odd, because the world at large would agree about three things when it came to the young man: he was extremely intelligent, he was a nerd with serious geek tendencies, and he was so polite and respectful, even the criminals he caught were hard-pressed to say a bad word about him. Hate him for stopping their various and sundry criminal activities? Oh, yes. But hate him personally? Very rarely.

So it came as a massive shock that afternoon when Peter lost his temper and exploded at the room of people who had staged an intervention to try convincing him to let them deal with the admittedly-vicious bullying he was suffering at school. It had deteriorated into a melee of shouting adults, all of them trying to explain to Peter how wrong he was for not letting them handle it for him, and even as angry as he was, Peter knew and understood that they meant well. Tony and May especially were coming from a place of love and concern and worry and anger, all for him or on his behalf, and he did appreciate that.

The problem was that in their zeal to solve this problem for him, they were utterly ignoring him. The same way they had for the entirety of the school year.

And even the most calm, reasonable person has a limit.

As the crowded penthouse in Stark Tower discovered to their stunned, disbelieving chagrin.

“Enough!!! It’s my problem and my decision on how to handle it!” Peter shouted, storming to the door. He was so frustrated and angry that he didn’t even register the sudden silence following his outburst; he just yanked the door open with so much force the hinges groaned in warning. “My decision!” he snapped again, turning to give the room a startlingly effective glare. “It doesn’t matter what any of you think, because you aren’t there. You don’t have to live with what happens after you swoop in and ‘save the day’.” The sarcasm from his last three words was blistering enough that Bruce and Pepper took a few steps back, a fact that Peter didn’t even notice, he was so livid. “SO LEAVE IT ALONE!!!” he bellowed before breaking into a run and flinging himself out the window FRIDAY obligingly opened for him.

May screamed, collapsing against a white-faced Happy as they all watched Peter do an Olympic-level forward flip, stick himself to the side of the building, and quickly climb to the roof. Tony, holding a shaking Pepper, was more used to the kid’s gymnastics and so he only swallowed, mostly-trusting that Peter wasn’t going to fall, and breathing out a relieved sigh when he didn’t, while Bruce blew out a gusty breath as the green creeping into his eyes began to fade. Rhodes and Hope were standing on the sidelines, the only ones who hadn’t actively joined in the . . . um, kerfuffle.

Rhodes was conflicted. He understood with an old, aching pain how Tony felt. After all, he’d seen many, many occasions of his friend being bullied, starting in MIT and happening as recently as three days prior. The irony was that he, Pepper, and the new Avengers (or Defenders; they needed to take a vote on the name and soon) were about to stage the same intervention for Tony because they were all sick of seeing Rogers (in particular) and his band of asshole rogues bully and harass Tony, using the Accords as a shield to get away with it while they were forced to spend nine months in the Compound under house arrest.

But that was for later, when they could catch Tony in a mood where he might be willing to listen to their concerns.

No, the irony did not escape him, hence the conflict: Rhodes also understood exactly where Peter was coming from, so he agreed with the young man’s frustration and anger, because everyone had pushed too hard, too fast, and it hadn’t taken ten minutes for the gaggle of adults to stop listening to Peter and start castigating him. The colonel sighed, trying to decide if Peter would accept him trying to talk about it, when Hope shifted beside him, sniffed hard, and abruptly made her way to the door, unnoticed by the still-shocked unofficial meeting of Peter Parker’s Parental Figures, Official and Wanted to Be Official.

Three steps from the door, Hope glanced over her shoulder and caught Rhodes’ gaze, summoning him with a quick head bob, and he quickly obeyed, the two of them slipping from the penthouse without garnering the attention of the others, and heading for the elevator with roof access. But just before they boarded it, Hope stopped and gave Rhodes a firm look. “Let me try first,” she said calmly but implacably. “Howard Stark might have been a giant dick, but he’s been dead for more than half Tony’s life. All he has are memories, shitty as they are, while I dealt with Hank last week. I can keep calm but also stay understanding, and that’s what he needs right now.”

That . . . yeah, okay, fair point. Rhodes nodded and stepped into the elevator, where FRIDAY promptly but silently took them to Peter.

He made a heartbreaking sight: leaning against the retractable window Tony had added for his sole use some months back, one knee drawn to his chest and the other leg stretched out to the edge of the roof. He had created a small ball made of webs and was listlessly tossing it back and forth between his hands. His expression was one of utter misery, though it was clearly underlined with deep, raw frustration, and tear tracks glinted on his cheeks.

“Stress ball made from spider silk, huh? Interesting concept,” Hope said matter-of-factly as she approached him. His only response was a quick glance up, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. But once he registered Rhodes’ additional presence, he shut right back down, making both adults wince. Still, as Hope had just said, she was well-versed in dealing with her curmudgeon of a father — and Peter had a right to his anger.

So she acknowledged it.

“They were wrong in what they said, and even more how they went about it,” she told the young man with no preamble. This earned her a startled look . . . but it also earned her a noticeably more relaxed posture. “Yes, they’re just trying to help you. But ignoring you is a bad way to do it, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that disrespect.”

His inherent politeness, honed and sharpened by May, kicked in at that and Peter gave her a tiny smile. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s okay,” he said dully — and nearly fell off the roof when Hope shook her head and declared, with more than a little of her own anger, “No, it isn’t. They treated you abominably and you deserve an apology for it. One that I will see you get.”

Peter’s jaw actually fell open and Rhodes had to hide another wince. He clearly wasn’t used to adults actually taking his side when he’d been wronged by other adults, and that stung, because Rhodes had seen Tony suffer that too much as well. And yet, he hadn’t said a word in Peter’s defense while everyone had been lambasting him . . . and he was painfully aware that to most people, silence was tacit agreement.

Of course, Hope hadn’t spoken up, either, but she wasn’t part of the family the way Rhodes was, so she got a little leeway he didn’t. But then, for that same reason, Peter didn’t trust her the way he did Rhodes. Hence why his lack of action had hurt Peter, while Hope’s probably hadn’t registered.

“And I’ll start with mine,” she announced out of nowhere, once more catching Peter completely by surprise. “I’m sorry, Peter. I was initially just trying not to interfere, as I know little about the situation, but when they ganged up on you, I should have stepped in. I have no excuse and I’m not going to make one up. I screwed up, and I apologize.”

The young man’s jaw was hanging open again and his eyes were huge as he listened, and it was nearly a minute before he could speak. When he finally did, he showed that he’d actually listened to Hope’s words about not letting everything slide, and murmured a hoarse but sincere, “Thank you,” before returning his gaze to his knees, which were winning the award for Least Awkward Thing to Look At on the roof.

Feeling both ashamed and uncomfortable, Rhodes cleared his throat and waited patiently until Peter finally met his gaze. They were full of resignation, which startled Rhodes . . . until he realized the young man was waiting for Rhodes to chew him out, because he was Tony’s best friend and Tony was unhappy about the situation.

And because Rhodes had a bad personal habit of standing by when something Not Good happened, even when he wanted to step forward, and instead just (maybe) addressing it later.

Shame was so thick in his throat now, he was afraid he was about to throw up. But he summoned discipline and forced it down. Peter deserved his apology and he was going to get it. Rhodes could yell at himself later.

Or maybe he’d have Hope do it; she was very good at that kind of thing.

“I’m sorry, too, Peter,” he said, refusing to let his nephew look away. “I could have said something and I just . . . I didn’t, and that’s on me. That’s — I’m sorry. I was wrong, and I am so sorry you had — no. I apologize for letting you deal with that alone.”

Those warm brown eyes, so much like Tony’s, were in danger of falling out of Peter’s face, they were so huge. But after another minute of so of strained (for Rhodes), stunned (that would be Peter) silence, Peter finally nodded.

“Thank you,” he said simply before looking down once again.

Everyone then proceeded to wait out the most uncomfortable silence of the year — including that day in April when May and Happy had decided to be adventurous in Happy’s personal office.

“All right,” Hope finally said, settling herself on the rough concrete opposite Peter and giving him an even look. “We all agree that how that bunch of lunatics downstairs handled things sucked. You didn’t deserve to be ambushed or attacked like that.”

Eyes wary, Peter slowly nodded again; it was clear he knew where she was going and didn’t like it, but he was a genius, so he also knew there was no getting out of this. He didn’t have to like it, and he obviously didn’t.

Still, to his credit, he didn’t try to deflect again, or run — well, no, it was Peter. He didn’t try to fling himself off the tower, which might actually have worked.

So Rhodes gave him full points for stoicism and knowing when to concede.

“But you do need to talk about it,” she continued quietly. “If only so we can explain to that bunch why their preferred method is flawed. And you know Tony; he’s a scientist, yes, but above all else, he’s an engineer. So once he knows that Method A is impossible, he’ll start working on Method Q. But he has to understand why it’s impossible first.”

She paused, clearly appreciating the tiny smile Peter couldn’t quite hide, before adding, “And he deserves that, Peter. He’s your dad and he loves you, and he just wants you to be safe and happy and okay. We all do. And if those things aren’t possible now, then he — we — need to understand why so we can look at solutions. And if the solution is sitting on our hands for a year until you graduate,” she said firmly, effortlessly overriding his protest, “then we can do that. But we can’t, and won’t, do it without knowing the real reason why. And it isn’t because — or just because — you’re a self-sacrificing hero with protectiveness written into your DNA. So don’t tell me you put up with that brat because it’s ‘better you than someone else’.”

This simple but inarguable logic stopped the boy in his tracks and he slumped against his window, looking so bewildered that Rhodes had to muffle his laugh in his sleeve. By some quirk nobody could explain, Peter and Tony weren’t biologically related (and yes, they had the DNA tests to prove it), but at time like this, it was difficult to believe, they were so similar.

But Rhodes digressed. And while he was woolgathering, Peter had thrown in the metaph—oh, no, he’d thrown in the literal towel. Well, okay, it was a handkerchief, but still. The kid clearly got both his sense of the dramatic and the dramatic flair from Tony, which . . . well, to be honest, kinda terrified Rhodes. He honestly wasn’t sure the world was able to handle another Tony Stark. His best friend was amazing, absolutely, and Rhodes was making it one of his life’s missions to make sure everyone either understood that, starting with Tony, or got punched in the throat (starting with Rogers), but he also knew the world at large simply didn’t have the mental stability required to deal with another Anthony Edward Stark, only younger and with the purest heart Rhodes had ever seen in his life.

Argh! He was digressing again. Was he really that afraid of what the kid — Tony’s kid — was going to say about his school life?

. . . yeah. Yeah, he was. Because Rhodes was genuinely concerned that after hearing the truth, he might be forced to kill a teenager so Tony didn’t have to.

“You’re right, that’s not why I let him harass me so much. Well, not anymore; I learned that lesson a couple of years ago. No, it’s actually pretty simple,” Peter said abruptly, nearly startling Rhodes off the roof, but he had enough experience with Tony to go with it and brace himself against his own concrete pillar as he gave the teenager his full attention. “STEM schools like mine get a little federal money, but only a little. So Midtown isn’t a public school with all those rules and safeguards, but even though it has tuition, it isn’t private. We’re the in-between, and that’s the problem.”

He paused and gave them both a long look to ensure they were keeping up, and Hope and Rhodes both silently nodded. Satisfied, he continued. “Well, that means the social hierarchy is comprised of the Haves and the Don’t Haves.”

That . . . that wasn’t the right analogy. Hope beat Rhodes to the objection, though. 

“Don’t Haves?” she repeated carefully, giving the words the same inflection as Peter, and the boy nodded.

“Yep. You either have money, connections, and/or power, or you don’t. Ned has money. Not much, mind, but enough to pay tuition and afford the field trips and lunches and whatnot. MJ has a little less money, but her folks have some minor connections. And Flash — I could knock him down or break his nose or, or p-prove he’s wrong about my internship, but it would only make things worse because he’ll just turn the truth into something gross and I still won’t be able to really fight back because his family . . . well . . .”

He trailed off, but it was obvious to the pigeons flying by what he wasn’t saying, and Rhodes swallowed down a surge of old anger. He’d gone to public school, but kids were kids, and those that had stuff always lorded it over those who didn’t. And precious few adults had ever tried to stop them, at least in a young James Rhodes’ experience. A quick glance at Hope told him she understood all too well, but the faint guilt he saw in her eyes confirmed she’d been on the other side of the equation. Probably not as a bully, but she’d still been a rich kid. He knew from Tony that it came with its own set of problems, but that wasn’t the issue at hand.

Ignoring this minor byplay, Peter kept talking.

“The real problem, though, is the staff and teachers,” he said quietly, looking down at the ragged hole just below his left knee. “They follow the same hierarchy, see, and are in essence bought and paid for. While scholarship kids like me are great for getting a few more federal dollars and tend to set national standards for excellence and grades and all that crap, we’re completely worthless when it comes to getting stuff like new lab equipment and tablets and cool field trips. You know, the things that need money, connections, and power.”

Oh. Of course. And if the teachers were bowing to the demands of the parents . . . yeah, he could see exactly why Tony’s usual brand of ‘fix’ would be useless for Peter. And so did Hope, who gave a heavy sigh and said it so Peter wouldn’t have to.

“So even if Tony bought the school, he’d have to re-staff from the ground up and micromanage for two or three years to ensure the old attitudes and habits didn’t take root,” she stated, while Rhodes and Peter nodded.

“Yep,” the boy said flatly, and Rhodes winced again, because Tony was not going to take this well. Not even a little bit. He’d understand, sure, but not being able to solve his kid’s problem, or at least make his life a little better?

Well. That was something to look forward to.

But he’d forgotten that Hope had different experiences from both himself and Tony.

Also, she had a twisted sense of humor and a positively Machiavellian way of managing both people and situations.

(these traits were both extremely attractive and rather frightening; Rhodes couldn’t decide if he wanted to ask her out or form a new team somewhere in far-east Asia)

“Well,” she said slowly, blowing out a deep sigh. “That sucks, Peter. But I understand — and I have a solution.”

This bald statement made Peter jerk to attention so hard and fast, his head thunked against the window behind him with a force that made Rhodes wince and reach instinctively for the medkit he wasn’t carrying. Hope ignored both their reactions and calmly explained not just what she was going to do, but why it would work.

“I know you don’t believe I have a viable solution, because no one else has found one,” she told Peter, leaning forward a little so she could finally catch and hold his eyes. “But part of the problem is that the people dealing directly with him are just like him: teenagers. And no matter how intelligent — or not — someone is, life experience will always trump smart. That’s one of the reasons Rogers hates Tony: he’s moderately intelligent and has no real life experience, and he can’t stand having his shortcomings exposed,” she observed caustically, nodding at Peter when he gave her a wide-eyed look of shock at hearing someone — an adult — not just say it out loud, but in front of him. To him. Everyone else had been trying desperately to pretend that because the Rogues had been pardoned and allowed back in the US that all was forgiven and fine and the team was once more a family, dancing merrily through the wildflowers, holding hands and singing Kumbaya.

The fact that Peter was intellectually close to Tony’s genius level, not to mention startlingly sensitive to negative emotions, had escaped everyone. Even Tony.

So Rhodes, and apparently Hope, had seen him walking on eggshells for last month, knowing full well the façade of ‘happy, healthy, team-as-family’ was complete bullshit, but unable to call anyone on it, because it was obvious to a blind man (which Matt had proved less than twenty seconds after meeting the Rogues) that this house of cards was balancing on one corner of one card and an earthquake was sending out warning tremors.

“But that’s a different conversation. Right now, we’re focusing on you,” she told the young man, smiling gently when he deflated at the reminder; clearly, he’d been hoping Hope’s little detour was permanent. “So the first thing we need to know is what’s this kid — Flash, right? — prefer to use: words or fists?”

One again, her blunt speech had taken Peter utterly aback, and Rhodes had to physically bite back a smile. Perhaps he should have felt out of place, but he was secure enough in himself and his abilities to know that Hope was the better choice for the emotional part of helping Peter. Rhodes wasn’t a slouch, necessarily, but he was both male and one raised in an era were men Did Not Show Feelings Even Under Pain of Death. So while he empathized with Peter completely, he simply wasn’t good at showing that in a healthy manner. But he knew even before Peter spoke that the brat had gotten physical at least a few times, because as long as he’d apparently been making Peter’s life miserable, it was inevitable. And Peter, being the gentle, polite, respectful kid that he was, refused to fight back because he could seriously hurt the little bastard and he flat-out refused to do that.

And that, Rhodes could help him with. They just had to get there first.

“He’s . . . he really likes to mouth off,” Peter murmured into his knees, shoulders hunching as he clearly remembered some of those words, and Hope nodded. Since Peter wasn’t looking at her, she allowed anger to cross her face for a few fleeting seconds, before she took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself down.

“It’s worse than being hit, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice so full of empathetic understanding that Rhodes felt tears prick his eyes, and Peter couldn’t stop the flinch that wracked his frame. “Especially since he has nothing better to do, so you hear it three or four times a day, four or five days a week. You think you’re inured to it, and it doesn’t really bother you, and mostly, it doesn’t, but then, you’re having that day and it just . . . and you can’t turn around and flatten his face, because he technically hasn’t done anything to hurt you, right?”

Peter flinched again. But it was the sob he muffled against his knees that finally broke Rhodes, and he moved forward until he was standing next to the young man. Without a word, he carefully eased himself down until he was seated beside Peter, legs crossed so that his right knee was touching Peter’s left, and waited patiently for his presence and support to be accepted.

It didn’t take nearly as long as Rhodes expected, which told him that Peter was a lot more upset about the situation than he’d realized. And how desperate the kid actually was for help. It just . . . that help had to be effective, and that was what had been lacking until now. But he wanted desperately to trust Hope, to believe she had a solution, and because Tony trusted her and Rhodes was currently backing her play, he was willing to hear her out.

Hope didn’t ask Peter to confirm her guess, and she wasn’t foolish enough to try touching him in comfort. Instead, she treated his emotional response as normal and kept talking. “I know you don’t want to tell me, or anyone,” she said candidly, and Peter shook his head, not bothering to deny it, but also with no real resistance. He didn’t realize that Hope wouldn’t push the issue if it truly mattered to him to keep his secrets, but she was skilled at reading people and knew that Peter did want to tell someone.

He just . . . needed the person he told to stay calm and collected and not start shouting about badly he’d handled the situation or why he hadn’t let someone else take care of it for him. He didn’t need a lecture. He just needed to be listened to.

And Hope and Rhodes did. They let him speak and they listened to what he said. They heard him.

So when Hope asked, with genuine desire to know but without an ounce of censure in her voice, what Peter’s tormenter’s favorite torments were, he responded to the respect he’d been craving for so very long.

“His personal favorite is Penis Parker,” the young man said quietly, still without looking up, and Rhodes was unable to censor his reaction to that. He scoffed, which earned him a quick glance from Peter, and told the kid, “Wow. That might actually be the most unoriginal thing I’ve ever heard — and I’m including ‘Capsicle’ in that.” A tiny smile was his reward for this observation, and Rhodes took a few seconds to relish it before turning serious again. “But even though it’s juvenile and completely lacks imagination, it still hurts, especially when everyone else giggles when they hear it.”

A stiff nod was his only answer, but it was more than enough, and Hope sighed, finally reaching out to brush her fingers across Peter’s right knee.

“Jim’s right. It’s juvenile, but irritatingly effective. So what I’m going to teach you is how to turn that back on him,” she said, and Peter glanced up, confusion competing with cautious hope at her words.

“How?” he asked hoarsely. “His family is one of, like, seven or eight who own the school.”

In response, Hope merely smiled. It was razor sharp and cold, and sharks all over the world suddenly experienced serious adequacy issues. “Because we aren’t going to challenge his social standing. We’re going to eliminate it.”

And that finally got Peter’s full attention. He lifted his head to openly gawk at Hope . . . and so was Rhodes. He couldn’t even begin to fathom what she meant, but he was both eager and afraid to find out.

“You’re going to make a list of every single name and insult he likes to use on a regular basis. And we’re going to come up with a single word rebuttal for each of them.”

That . . . okay, Rhodes was lost, and so was Peter, if his slack jaw was any indication.

“I—” the young man began, but was immediately, albeit gently, cut off.

“It sounds crazy, yes,” she agreed. “But the thing about popular social standing, especially in high school? It’s entirely dependent on the backing and respect of your peers. Make the bully a laughingstock among enough people, and they lose all their power, because no one can take them seriously.”

“I—” Peter tried, again, only to trail off as that brilliant mind clearly began visualizing scenarios and both potential and possible outcomes. Whatever he saw had him visibly perking up, but barely a minute later, he slumped in defeat. “I don’t see how,” he told them in a dull, defeated voice. “I’m nobody at Midtown. Just the guy who wins Decathalon when I’m not flaking out on it, or Flash’s personal punching bag. Nobody’s going to listen to me.”

“I know. But they won’t need to,” Hope answered, her candid acceptance of his summation of the situation catching Rhodes off-guard. But Peter actually looked a little grateful for it, and Rhodes suddenly considered just how infuriating it must be to constantly be told that ‘it isn’t that bad’ and ‘it’ll get better’ and ‘if you just let us deal with it, everything will come up roses’, and of course, the oldie but goody 'if you ignore him, he'll go away', when the truth was, every one of those statements was a lie. Having someone acknowledge that was clearly a huge relief for the young man, and Rhodes made a mental note to start doing this with Tony. It was too easy to offer reassurance in an attempt to soothe the hurt, but not all hurts could be soothed, and false promises were much worse than blunt truth.

“What you’re going to do is kick the first pebble to start the avalanche. And it won’t be as complex or as difficult as you think. Honestly, your reaction is going to be the hardest thing about it, because you are going to have to have perfect control — and, unfortunately, you have no poker face whatsoever. So that’s what we’re going to do for the rest of the summer. You’ve still got, what, five weeks left?” she asked, getting a stunned nod from Peter and a grin from Rhodes, who had figured out where this was going.

“We’ll also work on some defensive training,” he added, shifting a little so he could look Peter straight in the eyes. “I know people like him, so I’m betting he’s fond of shoulder checking you to knock you off balance or make you drop your stuff, right?”

A single nod, backed by clear shame that Spiderman, the hero who could stop a school bus with his bare hands, allowed himself to be pushed around by a smarmy high school bully, made protective fury rise hard and fast, and Rhodes slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“Well, luckily for you, you know someone with access to the best military in the world, and we can teach you all sorts of tricks that are strictly defensive, so you don’t have to worry about hurting the little bastard, but you can still save yourself some bruises and aggravation. And help make him look foolish in the process. So it’s win-win.”

Peter sniffed hard and looked away, but not before Rhodes saw a gleam of hope in his eyes. That protective fury flared higher and he gave the kid an affectionate side-hug before looking back at Hope and smiling. “So . . . we’re gonna make a schedule and start working on facial discipline and control for you . . . and you know what? Once you’ve gotten a solid base, we’re gonna bring Ned here, too,” Rhodes said, the memory of Ned’s exuberance hitting him out of nowhere. Peter could at least ignore something, even if his face didn’t agree. Ned, however, had neither facial nor vocal control once he got excited or upset, and for Hope’s plan to work, both boys would have to have perfect, deadpan faces.

But Ned could easily be motivated by bribery (Tony’s lab, one-on-one time with War Machine, tickets to whatever convention they wanted to go to . . . really, the list was endless). But even as he had the thought, Rhodes knew he was doing Peter’s best friend a disservice. Ned loved Peter the way Rhodes loved Tony, so he would learn to keep the straightest face in the history of straight faces because it would help Peter.

Speaking of, the object of their discussion was gaping at both of them, eyes wild with too many emotions to identify, but he made no attempt to argue, which Rhodes couldn’t help but find humorous. Stunning Peter speechless was as rare as silencing Tony, and it really was funny to see.

“Up you go, then,” Hope told them both, offering a hand to Peter and getting a wide-eyed look in response before whatever he saw on her face silenced his instinctive protest and he accepted her help in getting up. Rhodes got no such assistance, which earned her a disgruntled glare . . . that turned into a slack jaw when she leaned in to whisper, “Strong and flexible, Colonel. Does that skill extend to other areas of your life?”

And the terrified attraction was back.

They’d both forgotten Peter’s enhanced hearing, so his horrified expression had them bursting into laughter, to which he just huffed out an affronted sigh before turning to the door.

“Wait, Peter,” Hope said, brushing a hand over his shoulder and keeping him still. “This conversation will remain private, for now. We will eventually have to tell Tony and May, but we’ll keep it between us until you’re ready to put things in motion — or you’re ready to tell them, whichever comes first. And don’t you dare apologize when we go back inside. I told you that they owe you one and I was going to see that you got it, and I fully intend to keep my word. Okay?”

Shaken, Peter stared at her for a solid minute before he slowly nodded, and Rhodes squeezed his other shoulder before stepping around him to open the door and escort his nephew back to their family.

No one spoke during the four-minute trip, which was unnerving, but Rhodes and Hope resolutely ignored the awkwardness and Peter just set his jaw and pushed straight through it.

Tony met them at the door, though the others were arrayed in a group behind him. But this time, the atmosphere wasn’t tense and angry, and Rhodes and Hope both relaxed minutely on seeing the remorse on everyone’s faces.

“I’m sorry, bambino,” he told Peter quietly, but still loud enough for the room to hear. “I’m frustrated because my thing is being The Fixer and I can’t fix this for you. But I also want you to come to me about anything and I can’t ask or expect you to do that if you think I’m going to attack you. No, don’t say anything,” he added quickly, cutting Peter off mid-breath. “What I did wasn’t okay, and I don’t want you say it is just to make me feel better or let things go back to normal. You deserve better, so let me give it to you. Please?”

Tears, somehow held at bay for the last hour, finally welled up and spilled down Peter’s cheeks and he stepped into Tony’s arms, burying his face against his father’s chest and letting himself be comforted. Tony didn’t say a word, though Hope and Rhodes had to step past him to stop the others from rushing to join the embrace. They would have their chance later, but this moment was for Peter and Tony.

After the tears and apologies had tapered off and Peter had finally fallen asleep from utter exhaustion, Hope and Rhodes were bombarded with questions and demands from everyone but Tony . . . who took first Hope and then Rhodes aside and thanked them for standing up for and taking care of his son . . . and then shocked them both into disbelieving gurgles when he promised not to ask any questions until Peter was ready to talk about it.

Rhodes wasn’t ashamed to admit he spent the rest of the day looking for flying pigs.

Over the next five weeks, Peter underwent several small but significant changes: he got an up-close and personal look at just how many variants there were between ‘weedy asthmatic twig’ (Peter’s words, but Ned had agreed) and Spiderman. It took several days and an absurd number of demonstrations, but when Peter finally grasped how, exactly, he could use the laws of physics to keep himself safe without also revealing his secret identity, he became an almost completely new man. Still polite, still respectful, but . . . resolute . . . in a way he’d never been before.

And his determination to develop the best poker face in the history of the world bore successful fruit as well, though it took more than two weeks before he started making solid progress. Hope and Rhodes had initially decided to wait on bringing Ned in until after Peter had mastered the skill, but it didn’t take long for them to realize that Peter learned best in this kind of environment with a friend, so he and Ned learned together. And Rhodes had been right: Ned hadn’t needed any incentive outside of helping Peter, though Tony had gladly procured tickets for the pair to a comedian they’d wanted to see for months.

To everyone’s surprise (and mounting frustration, though they all kept their word and didn’t pressure anyone on the plan — not even Ned, who would have spilled like a cup of coffee), Peter kept his mouth shut about what he and Hope and Rhodes had concocted until three weeks after the school year started. It was a Friday, which meant he was spending the weekend at the Tower, and as it happened, both Hope and Rhodes were present that morning as he bolted out the door, running late like he did every Friday.

“You can show them now and have FRIDAY keep tabs!” he yelled over his shoulder as he hit the waiting elevator, leaving confused silence behind him while everyone tried to process the meaning of those rushed instructions. Once she parsed it out, Hope smiled and started to ask FRIDAY to play back their conversation with Peter on the roof so many weeks earlier. But Tony cut her off and requested Pepper and Happy and Bruce to come to the penthouse first (May was at a work conference), citing the fact that they deserved to know what was going on just as much as he did. That was a fair point, and everyone settled in to wait for the half-hour it took for the others to arrive.

More than a few tears were shed as they watched and listened to that heart-wrenching, heartfelt discussion, but time had provided a lot of perspective and Tony once again thanked Hope and Rhodes for taking such good care of his kid. When he asked about their plan, though, he was met with a pair of mischievous smiles and not a word in response.

Before Tony or Happy could fret themselves to death, though, FRIDAY piped up and saved them all from a sugar run that would have seen every donut in Manhattan eaten in a frenzy that Thor would be jealous of. The look of gratitude on Pepper’s face would make Hope giggle for weeks.

Being Tony Stark’s AI, FRIDAY hacked the security camera in the school’s hall when Peter tapped the panic button on his watch, instead of just listening to the audio, so the group of five got a semi-blurred view of Peter standing at his locker, Ned at his side, with a dark-haired, trying-way-too-hard-to-look-good boy sauntering up behind them. A small crowd of students gathered to watch, scenting blood in the water.

“Ah, Penis Parker,” the dark-haired boy sneered, taking another step forward.

And stopped dead in his tracks when Peter, without turning his head, said, “Yes, Vagina?”

Someone actually dropped a pen in the abrupt, shocked silence . . . which was broken when one of the girls standing a few feet to Flash’s left burst into hysterical giggles, pointing at Flash and gasping, “Vagina!” before doubling over, tears streaming down her face. That set everyone else off, with the boy himself standing in the middle of a massive group of his peers, all of whom were laughing at him . . .

. . . while Peter and Ned simply slipped through a small gap at the edge of the locker bank. Neither of them looked at Flash once, or showed any reaction whatsoever to the hysterically-laughing mob, and Rhodes was so proud of his nephew, he knew he was going to burst. Hope was in the same boat, while Pepper had buried her face in a couch cushion so she could scream with laughter. Happy just looked stunned, and Tony . . . his face was a swirling mix of emotions: pride at Peter’s composure, sorrow at the necessity, glee at the brilliance of the plan (which, true to Hope’s predictions, took less than a month to take full effect; Peter never used his rebuttals to Flash’s heckling outside of those specific taunts, but they spread through the rest of the school like wildfire. Flash Thompson was de-fanged before midterms).

And so much love, tears came to Rhodes’ eyes.

The most astonishing thing, though? When Peter got home that afternoon, not a single person said a word about it. After listening to Peter’s explanation of how things worked at Midtown, and why, they’d all been forced to come to some ugly realizations, but the end result was a much deeper understanding of the young man. He would never be proud of humiliating someone, no matter how deserving that someone might be or how it was the only way to stop worse from happening, so he wouldn’t appreciate being praised for it, either.

So nobody said anything and just treated it like a normal Friday. And if various members of Peter’s family had FRIDAY keep tabs on how often he (and Ned) had to take the brat down, well . . . hell, yes, they did. They were unspeakably proud of Peter, even if he wouldn’t accept that pride for this situation, and frankly, the rebuttals he and Hope had concocted were pure gold.

Well, according to Tony, they were a red and gold titanium alloy, but his pride and love for his son was such that everyone rolled their eyes and let him have that point (to be fair, the look on Flash’s face when Ned nailed him with his birth name of Eugene in front of his crush was so good that May got it printed and framed).

In the grand scheme of things, it was a small show of respect for Peter. But it set the foundation for the rest of his life and ultimately set Peter Parker on a path where he would change the world in a way no one would ever have dreamed.

And it all started with the simple respect of one person finally being heard.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

First of all, I want to say 'thank you' to everyone who has read these stories, left kudos and comments, and bookmarked it. You are the reason writers write and you deserve all the thanks and appreciation we can give you. So: thank you. 

Now, in a change, I'm putting the author's notes at the bottom, lest I give too much away. So if you trust me or like to be surprised, dive right in. If you're understandably wary about the Things My Mind Comes Up With, hit the notes at the bottom first.

Be warned: this story can easily be considered . . . polarizing. Talk to me about it, please. I would love know what people think of this . . . but stay calm, respectful, and reasonable. I will not engage in or allow any shouting matches or a flame war to erupt. Don't like it or agree with me? Fine, no problem. Tell me why. Scream at me or another reviewer, spew insults . . . anything other than calm discourse and constructive criticism will be deleted — and I fully intend to hold myself to that standard as well, so if I slip and don't realize it or correct it, let me know, please. Comments are an author's lifeblood and a good guide for readers, but only if they're helpful and relative, and I fully intend to keep things that way.

Lastly, TaleWeaver beta'd this one for me, and it is much appreciated. You rock, girl, and I cannot express my appreciation enough. Thank you!

D(iligence) E(xcellence) I(ntegrity)

Like any sane person, Pepper Potts hated press conferences.

Actually, no. ‘Hatred’ was really too mild a description. It would be considerably more accurate to say that she utterly despised them. In point of fact, the only reason she did as many of the wretched things as she did was because she lacked Tony Stark’s uncanny skills of avoidance, not to mention his years of practice in said avoidance. And since they were collectively the face of Stark Industries, one of them had to attend the vast majority of press conferences related to the company (to be fair, Tony always got stuck with the Avengers PR and associated crap, and Pepper was honest enough to admit that she usually ended up with the easier end of the deal, despite the fact that she attended four times more meetings than he did).

So it stood to reason that she would be hoping desperately to be stricken with swine flu or possibly the plague, if it would get her out of giving this particular quarterly ‘Health of SI’ press conference.

And yet . . .

And yet.

To the astonishment of virtually everyone who knew her, Pepper was actually looking forward to this one. She knew perfectly well that not a single reporter would pay attention to the actual ‘health of SI’ report she was giving, and she also knew that the first question she would be asked once she finished giving a report no one cared about (and yet had whined incessantly about not hearing in the years before the PR department finally gave in and made it a quarterly announcement; was it any wonder she and Tony both hated the damn things?) would have nothing to do with the aforementioned report, given the recurring pattern that had been established in the last several months.

Because of this expectation, and thus in a shocking turn of events, Tony had been equally as gleeful about this conference. In fact, in a move that made Pepper actually swoon from shock (no, seriously: she passed out for a few minutes), he’d offered to either give it himself or attend with her, he was that eager to see the reactions — and prepared to shoulder the bulk of the expected negative responses. But after a great deal of thought and debate, they had jointly, albeit regretfully, decided that Tony’s presence would do more harm than good, all things considered.

Most people would have thought she’d be offended at the notion of not being paid attention to by the people she was speaking to in a live event being done specifically for them, but there were certain universal constants. And topics covered/questions asked in a press conference, regardless of the reason for said press conference, were one and a half of those constants. Especially now. The after-conference subject would be one of two things, guaranteed.

Hence, her . . . anticipation.

Everything was normal: the blinding lights, the too-small room jammed with too many people, cameras, and — was that a dog? It . . . apparently, yes, it was. Well, why not? It was better behaved than the CNN reporter, so Pepper let it be and focused her attention on reading the cards in front of her, all while mentally smirking in preparation for what was about to happen. She glanced to her left, where Happy stood guard, and her internal smile widened when he subtly held up his phone, where he had Tony on a video call. She couldn’t see her fiancé’s face clearly due to the distance, but his playful wave almost made her laugh. There was little that Tony Stark enjoyed more than screwing with the heads of people who truly deserved it, and a room full of reporters would always deserve it. What was about to happen was simply extra cheese on the burger (and wow, Tony had rubbed off on her more than she’d realized).

She turned her full attention back to the room, finished her report, and took a deep breath.

Showtime.

“We have time for a few questions,” she announced, eyes flicking rapidly over the crowd to make her final decision on who to select. She’d narrowed it down to five possibilities on first entering the room, but one never quite knew how people would actually behave once a press conference was underway, and more than one promising reporter had cost themselves the chance at a question by acting badly during the speech.

This statement naturally set off the insanity and for the next few minutes, the press room resembled nothing so much as the mosh pit at a rave.

Well. Minus the strobe lights, drugs, alcohol, and half-naked — whoops, no, there went Kerry Patton’s shirt. When would the woman realize that sheer shirts were a bad idea at a press conference held by Stark Industries (or Amazon, honesty compelled her to admit)? And Tony wasn’t even here, so Pepper really didn’t understand the logic behind that decision.

Mentally shaking her head, she eyed her options again and liked none of them. Mentally sighing, she did another scan of the sea of people, saw a young reporter from the New York Times also looking around the room, a faintly annoyed expression on her face, and paused to take a closer look. Young, female, major media outlet, and apparently irritated by the chaos . . . she’d be hard-pressed to find a better combination at this point.

So she held up a hand, greatly amused at how the experienced reporters instantly fell silent, their eyes locked on Pepper as though she was a heat-seeking missile, while the rest of them kept yowling and jostling for position. Watching them slowly realize that there was no longer a need for said yowling and jostling was equally entertaining, but Pepper kept her face impassive. As much as she was looking forward to this, she still needed to play it carefully, lest things backfire due to simple carelessness on her part.

Once the room was quiet, she pointed a slim finger at the young NYT reporter and nodded. The girl blinked in utter shock at being chosen first, but recovered admirably quickly and stood up, an excited smile splitting her face.

“Ms. Potts! Does this report mean that we can finally start seeing more women on the board and in positions of power at Stark Industries?”

Her question was almost word-for-word what Pepper, Tony, and Paul McGinnis (the head of PR) had anticipated for this particular topic, and Pepper had to fight down another smile. Instead, she gave the young woman a raised eyebrow and simply said, “No.”

The room went so quiet everyone heard the FOX News man drop his pen and the sound it made rolling under the table echoed for several seconds.

And then it was pandemonium.

Pepper said nothing and made no attempts to calm the room; this was exactly what everyone had expected and there was no point in trying to regain control until most of the crowd had gotten the shouting out of their systems. It took several minutes, during which time she exchanged a few amused glances with Happy on her left, a laughing Tony still watching from his phone, and some smugly pleased smiles with Paul on her right. Silence came in gradual waves as people realized Pepper wasn’t going indulge them in a screaming match or vie for their attention — wouldn’t, in fact, acknowledge them at all until they calmed down — and order was restored swiftly once the front row settled down. But the room was still tense and Pepper remained sensitive to that tension, nodding once more to the same NYT reporter in a silent bid for her to continue.

After a hard, nervous swallow, the young woman obliged.

“I — I’m sorry, Ms. Potts, I don’t understand,” she said slowly, clearly feeling her way through a conversation she’d never expected to have. “We all know how important diversity is, and equality and inclusion, so why would you not embrace that?”

Word. For. Word.

Damn. She was going to owe Paul an entire rented theatre of Wicked and a truly absurd amount of chocolate truffles before this was over.

Still, since it was exactly what she’d expected, she was more than prepared with her response.

“Do you know why Stark Industries is the leader in not just the tech industry, but the business world at large?” she asked, gently but firmly, and the journalist shook her head, looking dazed and very confused. Pepper nodded in response and allowed her eyes to scan the entire room, meeting every person’s eyes for a few seconds, before focusing her attention back on the young woman. “It’s because we have made it a habit to not just hire, but keep, people who are the most qualified for the job we hired them to do.”

She paused to let the room assimilate that answer, unsurprised by the confusion that still clouded too many faces, and leaned forward a little to create the illusion of closeness with the Times reporter. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name,” she said quietly, smiling softly when the girl almost stuttered, “Taylor Robinson, ma’am,” at her, awe now tingeing her words.

“Well, Taylor, tell me this: you’re a woman, correct?”

A slow, still-confused nod was the answer and Pepper smiled. Her peripheral vision caught Christine Everhart straightening, eyes full of sharp speculation, and satisfaction bloomed in her breast. Good; if nothing else, at least one person would accurately report this, and that was all she needed. That knowledge made her next statement a little more pointed than it likely would otherwise have been.

“So, using the logic of DEI, if you applied at SI for the position of a biochemist in our Research department, and you were the only female applicant, I should hire you solely on that basis. Correct?”

“Uhh — well, I, uhh . . .” was the stuttered reply. Pepper said nothing this time; she merely waited patiently until the journalist realized she really had nowhere to go with her response, and then continued smoothly down that same train of thought.

“Does being a woman automatically make you more qualified than your male colleagues to do a job?” she asked, watching with thinly veiled amusement as several people in the room shifted uncomfortably, and didn’t give the girl a chance to answer her.

After all, it had been a rhetorical question.

“And why should your gender, or skin color, or any factor other than your ability to not just do the job in question, but also be an asset to the job environment, come into play?” she demanded next, pulling back and straightening her shoulders as she allowed the CEO of Stark Industries to take over again. “After all, Taylor, you’re a woman. Were you hired because you’re a woman? Or were you chosen because you studied journalism and graduated with a degree in that field?”

She might as well have punched poor Taylor with brass knuckles, the girl looked so stunned. But Pepper had to give her credit; she rallied quickly. “I graduated cum laude from NYU with a Masters in Journalism!” Taylor exclaimed, looking and sounding affronted. But if she was expecting this to rattle Pepper, she was sorely disappointed.

“Oh,” the CEO of SI replied coolly. “So . . . you had the experience and qualifications the company was looking for when they hired you? Or did you simply put ‘female’ in the ‘job history’ and ‘education’ fields?”

“Of course not! I had the qualifications and degree they wanted!” the girl snapped back, obviously insulted now, only to blink when Pepper merely nodded.

“So why would you expect Stark Industries to do otherwise?” she calmly inquired, watching as this logic slowly wound its way through the room and a lot more people shifted uncomfortably. “You see, at SI, we don’t give a damn about your gender or race or anything other than your ability to do or learn the job we’re hiring you to do. Being male does not automatically mean you’re good at engineering, any more than being female instantly makes you a good receptionist or PA. This is why SI does not measure demographics: we don’t care. Those numbers have exactly zero positive impact on how we do business; in fact, when we did keep track of those metrics, we found it to be detrimental to a lot of departments.”

Three or four minutes of astonished silence followed this revelation, a silence that Pepper patiently waited out.

“I — how?”

This was voiced by the dumbfounded male reporter FOX News had sent and Pepper gave him a nod, forgiving his interruption because he was the only person other than Christine Everhart who appeared capable of speech — and Christine was savvy enough to realize that she needed to be an observer, at least for now. She was both too volatile and too well-known to risk interrupting yet, and that wasn’t taking into account her habit of skewering Tony when she felt it necessary, whether he was present or not.

Of course, when she thought he was right, she was his most powerful media supporter. But there wasn’t any way to know how this would play out, so Christine knew she needed to wait and observe so as to determine the best way to spin things, should that be needed.

But Pepper digressed.

“Because keeping track of external demographics means that instead of measuring successful output or active projects or whatever form of actual job performance, our department heads found themselves worried because in a division comprised of 25 people, we only had four black people or nine women or whatever,” she replied, once more catching and holding the young reporter’s gaze. “And when you’re more concerned with checking off boxes instead of producing good, high-quality results, you stop producing good, high-quality results. So, across the entire company, covering four continents, an anonymous poll was conducted. Almost 92% of our employee base took the survey and more than 88% of the participants voted to discontinue tracking demographics.”

Pepper paused there and took several sips of water, watching intensely (and with more than a little amusement) as the room absorbed her words. The majority of people still looked stunned, but quite a few of them showed understanding. There were even some flashes of agreement, though they were few and far between.

But it was a start.

“The only time our hiring managers ever consider external factors is when the division itself begs the question,” she continued, mentally smirking when that got everyone’s attention. “For example, our Level 3 Testing Unit in London is comprised solely of women, all of whom are above the age of 35. And no, I don’t know how or why it happened, but that is the reality. Therefore, it would likely be a poor decision to hire a 23-year-old man for that department, as they would have little to nothing in common beyond education. Not that we wouldn’t hire him, mind, we would simply offer him a position at a different location or see if there was another department he would be qualified for and interested in. But if we were looking to expand that department, then our hiring choices would be solely based on qualification. And the same principles hold true for SI’s Board of Directors,” she added, stopping that objection from CNN in its tracks.

“Again, being female — or not white or not straight or any other external factor — does not mean that a person has the knowledge, experience, or skills to do any or all jobs. Nor does being a white male automatically confer those abilities,” she said plainly, unwilling to mince words or dance around the subject. “But it would be foolish in the extreme for me, for any person, to dismiss someone simply because they don’t meet the required demographics, regardless of how qualified they are for the position or how good they are at the job. And since I am not a fool, it’s safe to say that Stark Industries will continue to maintain our position as the number one company to work for, because our current business practices work, and work well. I am not going to change them simply to cater to the delusion that external factors not a single person has any control over are somehow more important than having and using the skills, abilities, and qualifications we require to work here. Nor am I so insecure that I feel the need to punish someone for a trait they were born with simply so I can feel superior. And I assure you: my accomplishments have nothing do to with the fact that I’m a woman. I’ve succeeded because I am damn good at my job, and I have and will continue to put in the work and effort it takes to succeed.”

Again, there was silence.

But this one was a lot more uncomfortable.

Wow. She’d thought they’d reached the pinnacle of awkward with that second silence.

Then she saw the looks of utter disbelief and . . . confusion? . . . on so many of their faces, and understood.

For the first time in actual years, Pepper Potts was truly, genuinely furious. And that fury sparked her to do something rash.

She deliberately threw high octane gas on the fire and gleefully awaited the explosion.

“A lot of people have chosen to forget, or just ignore, the fact that Howard Stark was our founding CEO, followed by Tony Stark. He was our company’s CEO for two decades, and he was very, very good at it. If you’ll recall, he was the one who successfully navigated SI away from weapons and into the tech industry. And he was also the one who grew SI from a million-dollar, US-based business to a billion-dollar, international company. Tony Stark did that,” she repeated, giving a hard look to several of the reporters and news outlets who liked to cause Tony unnecessary grief. “Not me. When he decided to make the transition to full-time head of R&D and CTO and appointed me as his CEO, that framework was already in place. Of course, I’ve had to work hard to maintain our growth and stability,” she acknowledged, because she did have to work her ass off and she wasn’t going to downplay that, or act like it didn’t matter. But she also refused to let people dismiss Tony’s achievements, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to claim them as her own.

“But Tony is the one who made it possible and proved that such a drastic change could be done. And I’m very grateful to him for it, and so proud of him for having the courage to not just make the change, but succeed in it. And his constant, unwavering support in my abilities as I stepped into that role has been invaluable. Would I have succeeded without Tony? Undoubtedly. But it would have been an untold magnitude more difficult,” she finished, watching with great enjoyment as many of the women in the room looked torn between pride that Pepper Potts, WOMAN, was the CEO of one of the most successful companies in the world, and disgruntlement that not only had a man had done it first, but she was openly acknowledging that fact. This dichotomy was a long-standing joke between Pepper and May Parker, and she and Hope van Dyne had developed a drinking game out of it.

Still, it was vastly amusing to call out the people who celebrated Pepper for many of the same things they criticized Tony for doing and watch them flounder.

However, she’d made her point and it was time to end things, at least for today. The cat had been set among the pigeons and the seed planted (yes, she’d mixed her metaphors. So sue her; it had been a long day), as proven by everyone’s inability to offer a legitimate rebuttal to the points Pepper had made. Slowly and deliberately, she rose from her chair, wishing she had an actual microphone to drop, and what little noise there was died quickly. She met each person’s eyes one last time before simply saying, “That’s all the time we have today. Thank you for coming.”

Naturally, that woke them up and shouted questions chased her off the stage, but Pepper never faltered as she left the room. Tomorrow’s headlines were going to be . . . interesting . . . but even knowing how much of a migraine she’d just set herself up for, she wouldn’t change a thing.

As Happy drove her home, Pepper sighed as she considered again her words, and the impact she hoped they would have. It was a fine, difficult line to walk, being a woman in the world of high-end corporate business. In no way did she want to discourage women from being ambitious and achieving their dreams. But it worried her to see so many of the younger generations sneering at men and disregarding their contributions, past, present, and future, simply because they were male. She wasn’t stupid and knew that an astonishing number of people really did think she’d been the unofficial CEO of Stark Industries for years before Tony had promoted her, and nothing anyone said, including her, seemed able to change their minds. And that irritated her beyond belief, on his behalf and hers. She simply could not understand why so many people were threatened at the idea of an equal power balance between a man and a woman, but their inability to foster that kind of relationship was beginning to cause serious problems in the business world.

Of course, she often wished she could beat some of her Board members and more than a few department heads with a baseball bat — but surprisingly little of that attitude was due to them disrespecting Pepper for being a woman. In all truth, it was mostly because she had been promoted to CEO without taking any of the standard stepping stones, and thus, they all assumed she’d slept her way to the top. The fact that this was, in fact, impossible, utterly escaped them. In one of the most beautiful examples of irony ever seen, people either thought she’d only gotten the position because she’d seduced Tony into giving it to her, and was thus unqualified — though they were unable to explain her ability to do the job, and do it really fucking well — or they assumed that Tony had never really run his company, it had been her since she’d been hired, but they still somehow thought she wasn’t qualified because . . . well, once again, they could never give a concrete reason. In other words, it was the perfect Catch-22 for them and a massive headache for her.

The other primary obstacle she dealt in the boardroom was because she often implemented solutions and introduced ideas that differed from or outright disagreed with theirs. And she also got a maddening amount of pushback from the Board’s female members for really random reasons, though surprisingly little of it was envy. The problem was that she wasn’t in a position to actually let the public know that small fact.

However, what few people knew — or considered — was the fact that about half of Stane’s group of cronies had resigned immediately following his death and another third had left in a huff after Tony made her CEO.

But the rest of Howard and Stane’s ilk who had stayed? Well, the aggravating truth was this: despite many of them being stubborn, intractable jerks, they were also good at their jobs. So she fought to earn their respect and trust while respecting their abilities, if not them as individuals, and got on with the business of running her company, because they were all adults and that’s what adults did. The thing was, those same men had given Tony just as much grief, albeit in different ways, because that’s the kind of person they were.

But the general public would never believe that, or understand it, so Pepper had to fight for change in a different way.

Hence, today’s press conference.

After all, the future had to start somewhere. And as Tony met her at the door and pulled her into a strong embrace, murmuring his love and pride into her ear, Pepper smiled.

The future had to start somewhere, and she was engaged to The Futurist.

What better place to begin?

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Twin (from Another Mother, Father, Planet, Galaxy)

Tony Stark had been given many names since his birth. Some were good, some ambivalent, and some bad.

But his overall favorite was The Futurist.

Therefore, when SHIELD and the Avengers ‘team’ rejected and refuted his warnings about the incoming alien invasion after he’d near-single-handedly defeated Loki’s scouting party, he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t even all that irritated, because despite Fury and Company’s obvious disregard of his intelligence — hello, genius! Did they really think that was a lie or did they consider it one of those ‘convenient for them’ traits, like people who turned into Casanova when they were drunk, but couldn’t get a first look when sober? — he was fully expecting them to stonewall him. After all, if SHIELD let it slip that they didn’t have Tony Stark under their control, why, anarchy would reign! Riots in the streets, total government collapse, uprisings, economic disaster . . . basically, several things that both he and SI helped mitigate simply by being who and what they were.

So being ignored by Fury and gas-lighted by Romanova didn’t remotely surprise him. He was caught by surprise when he realized that SHIELD had branched out and were actively trying to sabotage his efforts in the non-shady-spy-agency world, but once he got over the magnitude of effort they were willing to exert to keep him under their thumb, he was grateful. Thanks to their work, he had a much better idea of which groups and people to make the effort for and which ones were established wastes of time.

And since Fury and his band of egotistical drones actually thought that he, Anthony Edward Stark, was simply going to shrug and say, “Sorry, I guess I don’t know anything about war, weapons, battles, and invasion plans, and was clearly just trying to get more attention from . . . someone, though no one knows who, because I haven’t informed the public so as not to alarm them,” then he wasn’t going to waste his valuable time trying to convince them. The only real problem with that was his lack of certainty regarding SHIELD’s stance on said imminent invasion: he knew that Romanova genuinely believed he was looking for an ego boost, but he didn’t think Fury wasn’t that stupid or that shortsighted, at least as a general rule.

So he played SHIELD when he felt like making the effort while subtly sending out his own feelers, trying to gauge how much support he could realistically garner to prepare for the next alien invasion/battle.

He walked away completely from that dumpster fire and the Avengers who kept feeding it after the Ultron incident, with the exception of funding, and that was solely because there was no way on God’s green earth that Steve Rogers could or would get a job that didn’t involve beating people up, and he refused to put his PR department through that headache. So while Rogers and Company were wandering the globe (searching for Barnes, he would later discover) and causing an impressive amount of damage, Tony was quietly networking on a worldwide scale. More importantly, he was successful.

Why was that significant?

Well, when he ended up on a different planet, along with his adopted superhero son and a wizard with enviable facial hair and a personality that completely negated the aforementioned envy, a ragtag team of misfits whose close bonds and clear interpersonal respect utterly encapsulated just how bad the Avengers were, both as individuals and as a team, and a giant purple grape (raisin, if you were the sorcerer, ball-sack if you were his disgusted son, and ‘I am Groot’ from the ragtag team), he wasn’t particularly worried about the army that was nearing Earth. His Rhodey-bear was in command of Tony’s genius defense system and the two of them had built and nurtured a global network of protectors, both normal and enhanced, who took said threat seriously and were well-trained and willing to cooperate with each other to defend their planet.

So Tony was able to put his complete attention on stopping Thanos, and for the first time since his interactions with Loki in 2012, he was looking forward to unleashing the full scope of his sarcasm, intelligence, and witty bantering skills against an opponent, only to be sorely disappointed. It seemed that old saying was true: there was nothing new under the sun, regardless of where that sun was located. So he got the sob story about Thanos’ home planet . . . which was at least useful, because that directly led into his reason for rampaging across several galaxies and leaving unimaginable swaths of death and destruction behind him.

He and Thanos had been going back and forth, with Tony successfully coaxing the underlying reason for all the alien’s madness and destruction and the purple raisin oblivious to the dull predictability of his own actions, when Thanos stated his raison d’étre . . . and completely, utterly, boggled Tony Stark’s genius mind.

“With all six stones, I could simply snap my fingers. They would all cease to exist. I call that mercy,” Thanos breathed, sounding horrifyingly sincere.

Tony stilled, jarred out of the vague sense of boredom he often experienced when listening to a villain monologue when he realized that this was different. Something had changed, something in Thanos, and danger was suddenly much closer than he was comfortable with. But he needed to keep the bastard talking, so he nodded and forced himself to say, “And then what?”

For the first time in his entire life, someone made a statement that literally stopped him in his tracks.

“I finally rest,” he decreed, looking at Tony with eyes burning from the fires of his own self-righteousness. “And watch the sun rise on a grateful universe.” Utterly unable to stop himself, Tony simply gaped at Thanos in disbelief at his hubris . . . and promptly had his mind boggled again. “The hardest choices require the strongest wills.”

Time just . . . stopped.

Because suddenly, Tony wasn’t looking at a giant purple alien with ugly armor and truly abysmal taste in fashion accessories.

He was looking at Steve Rogers.

It took him probably three minutes to really recover from the sudden realization, but when he was finally able to shut his gaping mouth and think again, Tony did something else he hadn’t done in close to thirty years.

He doubled over with laughter, actually crying from the force of his emotions, unaware of the concerned gazes of his son and allies, as well as the affronted glare of their opponent, who was not remotely used to being laughed at. But there was no mitigating this hysterical truth and Tony . . . well, he’d been under near-constant stress and pressure just from this stupid impending invasion for close to a decade. So it stood to reason that breaking through that stress would cause an overload — in this case, humor. But even then, Tony was still Tony Fucking Stark and he regained control before anyone could gather the wit to speak.

(It should at this point be mentioned that an unnoticed Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme (possessed of awesome facial, a more awesome sentient cloak, and a personality so abrasive, even Tony Stark was impressed), had opened a portal to the Earth — the Sanctum, to be precise — where Wong rolled his eyes but obligingly did the magic version of livestream and projected the confrontation across the world.

No, literally, across the world. So it wasn’t just the United States who saw and heard The Futurist going toe to toe with the Mad Titan, who was trying to justify the destruction of not just half the life on Earth, where he was currently headed, but also the decimation of the universe. The UK, Russia, China, Wakanda, Spain, France, Japan, Egypt, India, Brazil, countries who changed names every other week . . . everyone saw and heard the ugly truth.)

“Which one of you was adopted out?” Tony demanded, voice still full of mirth, as he pointed first to Thanos and then off in a random direction meant to indicate Earth. “Were you born on Earth, twin to a weedy, walking health catastrophe and get launched off the planet a la Superman, or did your parents kick Rogers off Titan for being a disgrace to the family?”

It took everyone several seconds to understand what he was implying, but once they did, it was epic. Thanos was so grievously offended, he couldn’t talk. Peter was curled up on the ground, tears streaming down his face as he howled with laughter, while Quill, Rocket, and Drax were using their ship to hold them upright, unable to breathe from laughing, and Mantis giggled into her hands. Nebula and Strange were the only two who weren’t amused, though Strange could be excused, since he was holding open a portal across God knows how much distance and trying to keep Thanos from noticing.

Tony, having already experienced the emotions of his revelation, didn’t even notice the other reactions. He simply pointed to Thanos again and said, “I mean it! You are literally identical: you both genuinely believe that you and only you are right about everything; you both think that every single decision you make is the right one, regardless of reality, evidence, proof, objections, or a live-action demonstration. You have decreed it, so it is right. And both of you destroy anything that has the bad luck to get caught between you and what you want — and neither of you ever looks back or has a moment of regret, because they were trying to stop you, so they had it coming. God, no wonder Rogers tried so hard to convince himself I was making this up — he was waiting for the family reunion so he could show off his own achievements!”

The alien in question gasped in sheer affront and snapped, “How dare you?! I would never behave as dishonorably as that asdofijtoi.”

Everyone paused at that, trying to parse the fact that Thanos had apparently just spoken a keyboard smash. Well, that or his word for Rogers didn’t exist in the English language. Either way, Tony had to agree with the sentiment. But he made no effort to express that, not that he had the chance. Thanos was on a roll — and he was seriously offended.

“I freely admit that I destroy my enemies, but I would never stab them in the back the way your supposed ‘team’ did,” he sneered at Tony, waving his arms wildly. The gauntlet passed in front of Peter’s face and the young hero took instant advantage. Thanos was completely unaware of the small strand of spider-web the boy wrapped around his forearm. “Did you know that I sent a few agents to Earth after Loki failed me so I could assess your planet’s level of preparation and interfere if necessary, only to discover that your gallant ‘captain’ and that foolish woman who thinks she’s a spy and the organization they serve had already done the work for me?” he demanded, looming over Tony (just the way Steve liked to) and still oblivious to Peter’s stealthy movements as he continued to web the gauntlet up.

Unfortunately for Thanos, he knew about Tony, but in no way did he actually understand who and what Tony Stark was, so he was visibly startled when the man in question simply shrugged and said, “Of course I knew. That’s why I recruited quietly and kept everything a secret. I knew before I tried to warn them the first time that they’d refuse to listen to me, but I still had to try. And then I went and built protections and defenses anyway, because I am Tony Fucking Stark and I don’t let piddly-faced idiots with delusions of grandeur defeat me, I don’t care who you are.”

(While Thanos gawked at Tony, the vast majority of the Earth’s population was outraged. The people SHIELD and Rogers (albeit to a lesser extent) had gone to so much trouble to turn against Tony, to convince he was just trying to boost his ego and get more attention, were horrified, enraged, and baying for blood. The people who had supported him from the beginning were smug, but also pissed off, because the team of ‘Avengers’ had gone out of their way to let the planet be destroyed for no reason other than satisfying their own hubris.

And hearing Thanos, the being determined to destroy half of all life in the entire universe, condemn Steve Rogers for being dishonorable . . . well. 

That enraged virtually everyone who heard it and embarrassed the hell out of the rest — and suddenly, the entire world wanted Steve Rogers dead and an underground prison for the morons who followed him.

All of the Rogue Avengers were in Wakanda.)

(spoiler: they were delivered to the UN headquarters two days later . . . mostly undamaged. T’Challa and Shuri lacked both the experience and the political acumen needed, but their mother, the Widow Queen, had both in spades, and also possessed no such scruples when it came to rounding them up. And if the Dora Milaje enjoyed themselves rather more than was professional in expressing both her displeasure and theirs, no one objected)

That made Thanos pause again and he tilted his head, studying Tony with an intensely penetrating gaze. After a minute or so, he blinked and then smiled, looking pleased.

“You think you can defeat my army?” he asked in delight, laughing softly at the very notion . . . laughter that tapered off when Tony gave him a razor-sharp grin of his own.

“I know we can,” he replied. “You see, your followers don’t share your ideology. Some of them joined you because it was the only way to stay alive, and the rest follow because you give them the chance to destroy anyone they want, under the guise of ‘salvation’. But not one of them believes that bullshit about ‘balance’, because it’s bullshit.”

Silence fell in the small clearing as everyone stared at Tony, who didn’t blink as he stared Thanos down.

However, the alien had become acclimated to Tony’s personality and sneered, “How little you know, Earther.”

“Oh, I know a lot,” Tony shot back, cutting him off effortlessly. “I know numbers and my math is never wrong. So I know it is mathematically impossible for every single populated planet to be over-populated and under-resourced at the exact same time. I know that eliminating half of each planet’s population will not miraculously restore ‘balance’, whatever the hell that means, since I don’t think there are Jedi and Sith running around the galaxy . . . though I suppose it’s possible,” he added to himself before visibly shaking off the thought and ignoring Peter's quiet snickers.

“I know that even if you somehow kill half the population ‘without bias’, you’re still going to screw them over, because among the dead will be the people who know how to grow food, process it, prepare and package it, and plan for the next year. So your ‘solution’ of killing half of every sentient population not only doesn’t solve any problems, it actually creates more. LITERALLY everything is worse after you’re done, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve decided your way is it and despite having these exact facts pointed out to you more than once, you ignore them and plow ahead, because only you know what's best for the universe. Just like Rogers. And just like him, you're nothing but a bratty teenager who didn't get his way and can't handle that, so you've been dragging the corpse of your planet around for years, decades, centuries, however the hell long it's been, waiting for it to suddenly come back to life and apologize for doubting your genius and applauding your willingness to 'make the hard choices',” he sneered, glaring fiercely at the alien and making everyone listening shiver from the raw hatred throbbing in his voice.

"Well, I love breaking it you, but it's not going to happen. You are never going to get their approval," he spat, eyes blazing with rage now. "And you know that, which is why, just like a child, you're destroying everything you can because there isn't anyone left to tell you 'no'. But even if there were survivors from your home, they'd still say 'no' and you'd do it anyway just to spite them. Because nobody is going to tell you that you’re wrong, or that you made the wrong decision for the wrong reason."

Tony stopped there and took several deep breaths before taking two deliberate steps forward. “So tell me again, Thanos, how you and Rogers are different. Or you and any other dictator and tyrant who’s come to power?”

Silence.

“Actually, don’t,” Tony said dismissively as he stepped back and to the side, keeping the Titan’s attention on him. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is you’re done. Your army does not stand a chance against Earth, and once you’re gone, I highly doubt it will stay together anyway, so it’s a moot point.”

That finally got a response and Thanos scowled again. “What do you mean, ‘once I’m gone’?” he demanded — and flexed his arms in absentminded preparation to grab a weapon.

It happened in flashes.

• Peter rolled forward and came to his feet, pulling with all his strength and yanking the gauntlet free
• Strange conjured a second portal directly in front of Peter, who chucked the gaudy monstrosity through it like he was throwing a baseball for the Yankees
• Drax bellowed his fury as he threw his daggers and Quill fired a blaster with deadly precision, splitting the Titan’s attention for a few precious seconds
• Tony transformed his gauntlet to a sword and stepped forward, plunging the blade into Thanos’ heart
• Nebula gave a single cry of fury and spun, her blade effortlessly slicing through her tormentor’s neck
• The universe held its breath as the enormous head bounced through the dust of Titan, eyes wide with shock

And in a flash, it was over.

After a massive crying jag, comprised of joy, shock, disbelief, and utter relief — followed by considerable amounts of squabbling — Strange was able to get everyone and their ship portalled safely to Earth, hideous gauntlet in one hand and the three stones it had held safely stored in other dimensions. That had been the only immediate consensus: the stones needed to be kept out of reach of everyone, but not destroyed unless it became necessary.

Finding out that the Rogues had finally been captured, tried, convicted, and sentenced was unexpected, but such a relief that Tony actually passed out from the reassurance of knowing they were finally gone and he never had to worry about them again — especially since Wilson and Lang (it took him entirely too long to remember who the man was) were the only ones who hadn’t gotten a death sentence.

Recordings of Tony’s confrontation with Thanos were played so much, people finally quit watching TV (which Tony privately found hilarious, even as he avoided watching it like the plague . . . actually, no, he’d have rather dealt with the plague than the fawning masses, many of whom had hated him twenty minutes before they watched him fight for their lives).

And the Earth? She went on. She prospered, and grew, and, with Peter Parker-Stark at the helm, eventually took her place among the intellectual giants of the galaxy.

Thanks to Tony Stark, the Futurist, the Earth and her people would never again face the danger of a twin threat of the magnitude of the one he had been instrumental in defeating.

But it was only possible because Tony looked back. He learned from history and did everything possible to keep from repeating it.

And the Futurist watched with pride as his son and heir took his place and led their planet proudly into the future.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Any Other Name

Respect takes many forms, but at its heart, it is all the same.

It is universal.

So it would stand to reason that respect would be a thing that is universally recognized, if not practiced.

. . . well. One would think.

But there were as many ways to disrespect someone as there were to respect them, and a frustrating percentage of those ways were subtle and even disguised as humor or — worse, and horrifyingly — legitimate respect.

This was a lesson Peter Parker would learn firsthand from one of the most unlikely people imaginable (and no, it was not a Hobbit named Bilbo Baggins. Even he wasn’t that much of a nerd, thank you): Jessica Jones, who was not known for her respectful manner toward . . . well, anyone, really. Even the people she actually respected rarely saw that side of her.

Her little brouhaha with Peter came about in a rather unusual way. The young woman, having officially joined the Defenders some five months earlier, had spent most of her time observing the people at the Compound but rarely interacted directly with any of them — except Tony Stark. The two of them got on like the proverbial house on fire, to most people’s surprise, but Tony had a deep-seeded appreciation not just for Jessica’s blunt, tactless habit of telling the truth regardless of a person’s feelings, but also her practice of treating him like a grown, intelligent, capable man.

Jessica was deeply appreciative of the fact that not only could Tony not be less judgmental if he sat down and made an effort, but he also empathized with her history and issues, but not once did he pity her. So once the initial groundwork was laid, it took maybe twelve, thirteen minutes for the pair to become insanely protective of each other (trust took considerably longer, but neither took that personally; it wasn’t like their reasons were invalid). And at first by extension, then from personal interactions, she became something of a sist—nah, no, more like a cousin, to Peter Parker.

It therefore followed that Jessica despised the Rogue Avengers with a passion, would cheerfully rip Wanda’s spine out through her mouth at the first opportunity, and had sworn a blood oath to kill Steve Rogers as soon as his purpose as cannon fodder was fulfilled (something she would likely share with James Rhodes, who had sworn the same oath). She knew Peter and Tony had developed a parental relationship, though neither of them ever openly acknowledged it, a fact that made her roll her eyes even though she understood: Tony had been betrayed too many times to willingly make himself that vulnerable, and Peter had negative self-esteem, so he could not believe that Tony Stark, Iron Man, saw him as important in his own right, let alone as a son (and when Jess found out who had so thoroughly convinced him he was a burden to everyone for everything . . . even Kilgrave would approve of her plans).

The problem, Jessica quickly saw, was that because the boy had no personal self-esteem, he was rather easy to manipulate. And the Rogue Avengers, at first led by Romanova, took full advantage of that. Now, to be fair, Peter didn’t know about Siberia, so while he had a few issues with Rogers and his team, he lacked the knowledge to understand why Tony flinched just at hearing Steve Rogers’ name and did a truly impressive amount of mental, physical, and technological gymnastics to avoid being in the same room with any of them — and he flat-out refused to meet one of them alone. But Peter was young, impressionable, saw the best in everyone, and was so naïve it was truly disturbing.

They were also The Avengers, the modern world’s first team of superheroes, which meant Peter, lacking knowledge he really should have had, was star-struck before the first official meeting.

And though Tony had tried his best to keep Peter away from the team, it was impossible. The Accords committee had made his presence at the Compound for a set amount of hours a week a requirement of the pardons, under the label of ‘overseer’, which everyone hated with a passion. He didn’t have to spend that much time with the group, thankfully, but for nine months, he still had to be in the building to ensure they didn’t cause trouble or go haring off on a ‘mission’ the first chance they could. The problem was that he refused to be separated from Peter for that long — which meant that Peter spent probably half his life at the Compound, either in a lab or training with various members of the Defenders. And while he didn’t go out of his way to find any of Rogers’ team, he also didn’t try to hide himself away, so their first meeting was both inevitable and less than four days after they returned.

Naturally, Tony had not taken it well, though he’d been resigned to it, and had managed to remain civil during that meeting. However, he’d also refused to give them any information apart from Peter being his personal intern, followed by a stern warning to stay away from the boy unless he sought them out (idly, Jess wondered what kind of bargaining had taken place for Tony to agree to that) and they were completely, totally forbidden to look for more information. Peter Parker was none of their business, The End, and if they violated that rule, hellfire and brimstone would rain down.

He’d been deadly serious, too, which made Jess wonder just why he was letting the 22 attempts by the Rogues to break into Peter’s personal quarters go unpunished. She couldn’t ask, because technically, she wasn’t supposed to know, but Pepper and FRIDAY despised the group even more than Jess did, and the three of them had formed a mini-support group, wherein they bitched and moaned about their various problems and people they couldn’t stand (Hope frequently joined them, too, but usually after dealing with her father). So finding out about the numerous, repeated attempts to violate Peter’s privacy pissed her off more than a little, and Tony’s lack of action puzzled her to no end. But after some thought, it was easy enough to see that he had a plan of some sort, and that plan had an official line or number of attempts or some rule the group as a whole had to break.

As that had yet to happen — and he was either unaware of their violation of his privacy, or didn’t understand how serious a problem it was — Peter had begun to tentatively seek the Rogues out, because Barton discovered he was Spiderman fairly quickly but they gave him no trouble about it and actually treated him like a member of the team.

On the surface.

Scratch that surface, though, and the ugly truth was clear: between Peter’s lack of knowledge regarding the Rogues’ actions and behavior toward Tony prior to the Accords, along with the complete truth of what had happened not just in Siberia, but also when Tony went to the Raft, and compounded by the man’s refusal to be in their presence if he could avoid it, the Rogues took advantage and quickly began to work on driving a wedge between Peter and Tony, or at least creating friction, which would lead to doubt and decreasing trust from Peter.

Their main goal was simple: if they could lure Spiderman to their side, they would finally have the leverage they needed over Tony to ‘put things back the way they were’. It started small, with subtle jabs at Tony’s intelligence, competence, attitude, unreliability . . . only they made sure to laugh gently while they were speaking, treating it as a joke among friends, and since Peter didn’t have a mean bone in his body (and was friends with MJ), he really thought they liked Tony, ideological differences aside. He was also used to the bullying tactics favored by Flash (loud, brash, obnoxious, and completely lacking subtlety or humor), so it never occurred to him that they meant every word.

Jessica vacillated for weeks on whether or not she should intervene. On the one hand, it was sickening to see them using a child for petty revenge and breathtakingly selfish personal motives — and their methods were clearly thought out and well-planned, at least as far as Jessica had seen. They knew exactly what they were doing. Her anger at this was made that much worse since she was one of three people who truly understood how much Tony hated himself for his decision to bring Peter to Germany. His intentions had been noble, sure, but that didn’t change the outcome, nor did it make his decision right. He hated himself even more because even now, he wouldn’t change things, because that choice had brought Peter into his life.

But he still loathed himself for being so desperate and so unwilling to stop in the moment to rethink things that he took a minor (not a child, no, but still not mentally or emotionally mature enough to handle what was to come) out of the country to an argument, a fight, that wasn’t yet his problem or his responsibility.

The Rogues, on the other hand, showed no remorse or hesitation at using Peter, both to get to Tony and to further their own ends.

And Jessica hated emotional manipulation more than anything but mind-rape (it was a very, very good thing that Wanda had been corralled to Kamar-Taj or she would have been dead four minutes after meeting Jessica).

On the other hand, she had learned a lot about Peter by observing him, both on his own and with Tony, and had quickly realized he did best when he was allowed to come to his own realizations. If someone simply told him something, he almost always took their side to be polite and avoid offense, only to later wonder if he really thought/agreed with what he’d been told, or if he was going along with it to please the other person.

But after she saw Wilson and Barton slipping him five dollars each after he again refused Tony’s progressively desperate requests for Peter to start calling him Tony, her resolve wavered dangerously. When she saw Tony literally flinch more than a few times after Peter called him ‘Mister Stark’, she decided to act, because it was clear that Peter wasn’t going to come to this realization on his own. He just didn’t have the emotional experience to even realize there was a problem, let alone understand it.

His expression when she cornered him on the roof and took his web-shooters before he knew she was there was priceless and it took considerable effort for Jess to keep her composure. She wasn’t going to lecture Peter, or yell at him, because she knew that his habit of using ‘Mister Stark’ was his way of showing respect, something cultivated by his aunt and uncle, supplemented by his lack of self-esteem, fed by the awe he still felt at being Tony Stark’s protégé, and twisted by the Rogues. Not all of them knew just how much Tony hated being called Mister Stark by people he liked, but the group knew how badly he wanted Peter to call him Tony, and so they took great delight in getting his mentee to hurt him in the name of respect and admiration.

Jessica had to give Romanova credit: she was a mediocre spy and an equally mediocre Black Widow (her PI skills, combined with FRIDAY, had gotten her the bulk of the woman’s Red Room records and they did not sugarcoat things. Romanova was the best of her class, yes, but her class had been the second-to-last one of the program before it was disbanded and completely re-vamped; Howard Stark’s generation had seen the absolute best of the best Black Widows), but her manipulation skills were second to none — when they were used on people who were susceptible to those tactics. Peter, unfortunately, was one of them. And that meant that Jess needed to set him up with Matt; there wasn’t anyone better at being able to identify lies, which was a skill Peter badly needed.

“Je—Jessica!” the young man stuttered, giving her a wide-eyed look of astonishment as she firmly pushed him into one of the chairs Tony had put on the roof a few months earlier. “What—why—why—”

“Breathe, Parker,” Jess interrupted, fondness welling up at his flustered incoherence, even as she remembered the day he’d quit trying to call her Miss Jones. She flat refused to acknowledge him when he did it, but it still took nearly a week to wear him down. The combination of memory and flustered kid also helped remind her that she wasn’t bringing the wrath of God down on him; she was just going to explain a few things he honestly didn’t understand. “Good,” she said approvingly when he obediently took a deep breath and then looked up at her, eyes wide with curiosity now.

Showtime, Jess.

“Okay, I’m just gonna say it,” she said abruptly, startling him a little. But he had learned patience in the last year and said nothing as she began to pace in front of him, mildly annoyed at herself for not planning this part of it out. She’d never been one for speeches or monologues, and it hadn’t occurred to her that preparing something might be a good idea.

Well. It looked like everyone was going to learn something new today.

“Why do you refuse to call Tony ‘Tony’?” she asked quietly after she’d come to a stop and dropped into the chair in front of him. Startled, he blinked at her several times before shaking his head in bewilderment.

“Because . . . because his name is Mister Stark and it’s disrespectful to call adults by their first names,” he said slowly, unconsciously leaning back when Jess blew out a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s start there, then,” was her blunt response, earning another set of puzzled blinks. “Yes, assuming you have the right to address an adult so informally without permission is very disrespectful, and not something you should do,” she began, holding his gaze. “But when anyone asks you to call them a specific name, unless you’re in school and it’s one of your teachers, then you do what they’re asking, because they have clearly told you what they want.”

And again with the confused blinks. The boy wasn’t going to have any eyelashes left by the time they were done if he kept that up.

Jess had to fight down a laugh at that image, though she made a mental note to mention it to Tony. He’d think it was hilarious and might even do an AI rendering of what that would look like, which would delight Peter to no end, even as he died of embarrassment. But she was wandering.

“Okay, let’s try this,” she said, suddenly remembering what FRIDAY had told her several weeks ago. “You asked Wilson not to call you Petey-Pie, right?”

A nod.

“Okay. So if he ignored you and kept calling you that, would you be okay with that?”

More startled blinking, but this time, it was followed by obvious thought . . . and then, finally, dawning realization. Unfortunately, said realization was outweighed by confusion and more than a little panic.

“But . . . but he’s Mister Stark,” the boy wailed, looking pitiful. “He deserves to be addressed with respect and courtesy. And — and I’m just Peter,” he finished, looking down and shrinking into himself.

Jess couldn’t hold back this sigh and leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on his knee. “You’re right,” she agreed, giving him a small smile when he looked up. “He deserves respect. But let me ask you this: how many times has he asked you to call him Tony?”

Brown eyebrows beetled together, making Peter look unnervingly like the teddy bear Trish had had when they were kids. It was adorable.

“Uh . . . a lot,” he confessed quietly, looking down again.

“Right,” Jess agreed, leaning back. “And that should be all you need, Pete. He’s told you and told you and told you what he wants, and you’re disrespecting him by so blatantly ignoring that.”

Those warm brown eyes went wide with horror at her blunt words and he actually choked on his tongue, he was trying so hard to speak. Taking pity on him, Jess didn’t let him flounder for long.

“So you need to start calling him Tony,” was all she said, catching and holding his gaze and refusing to let him look away. “But I’m going to explain why, because I think it’ll help with that complex of yours.”

He stuttered again in a failed attempt to deny he possessed said complex, but again, Jess didn’t let him get far.

“One of the main reasons he hates it is because ‘Mister Stark’ will forever be associated with Howard, and that’s . . . those aren’t memories he enjoys,” she began gently, unconsciously softening her demeanor when she finally saw just how horrified Peter was at the notion he’d hurt his mentor’s (dad’s) feelings. “Another is that ‘Mister Stark’ is what he’s called by people who know they aren’t close enough to him to be on a first-name basis, but they don’t actually respect him enough to call him Doctor Stark, which is his correct title.”

This had clearly not occurred to the young man and his eyes went wide with horror yet again, making Jess mutter a curse to herself. “Don’t!” she said sharply, cutting off his self-flagellation before he could get going. “He’s never wanted that from you, or he would have said so. Tony isn’t shy about expressing himself.”

This truth stopped Peter in his tracks and he smiled despite himself, making Jess relax a bit.

“And last, he . . . he considers you one of his people, and his people don’t stand on ceremony with him, any more than he does. I mean, how often does he call Rhodes ‘Rhodes’?” she asked, biting down a smile as she watched understanding finally dawn on him.

But it was promptly washed away under a wave of confusion.

“But then . . . why does everyone but Mr Rogers call him Stark and keep asking me to call him Mister Stark?” he asked, and all the humor in the situation drained away.

Jess took a deep breath.

“It’s because they don’t respect him, or like him,” she explained concisely, somehow managing to keep her own feelings about the group under wraps and out of her voice. “They don’t respect him enough to call him Mister, and I doubt any of them except maybe Romanova would believe he has several doctorates. And none of them really like him, so ‘Tony’ is out, at least as a token of friendship.”

“But—” Peter began to object, only to trail off when Jess shook her head.

“Think about what I said and look back over your interactions with them,” she instructed him, and sat back to watch, idly wishing for a drink, while he obeyed her, clearly replaying memories. And from his darkening expression, he was finally seeing the truth.

The rage that blossomed across his face was both shocking and satisfying; never in a million years would Jess have thought Peter capable of such dark emotions, but this was an excellent sign. He didn’t need to become the walking personification of anger she herself often was, or the black hole of bitterness Tony frequently fell prey to, but if he was going to survive as a superhero, he would need some kind of hard edge or he’d never be able to hang on to the core of himself, even as gentle as that core was.

“They’ve been screwing with me from the beginning, haven’t they?” the young man hissed, sitting straight up and pinning her with a furious gaze. “All along, they’ve been . . . but why?”

That last question was a pitiful whisper, full of despair and hurt, but the anger hadn’t faded from his eyes, which was a good thing, because it meant he was able to think and reason — and he hadn’t forgotten the facts he’d only just learned.

Despite coming here for this exact purpose, Jessica hesitated before answering. Peter needed to truly understand what the Rogues were, yes, but she hated being the one to kill some of the idealism that made him glow like a newly-formed star (ugh, she was definitely spending too much time with Tony. Before she’d met him, she could barely tell you what a star was, and now she was composing mini-poems to one? Dammit, she needed a drink).

But she still answered him.

“From what I’ve seen, there are two reasons,” she began candidly, leaning back a little in a failed effort to ease the tension thrumming through his body. “The main one is that if they can convince you that they’re right about the Accords and everything that goes with them, and you join their side, then they’ll have the leverage to force Tony to make it all go away. They’re too stupid to understand that literally can’t happen, but that’s the primary goal. That’s why they keep trying to break into your room: looking for dirt or maybe blackmail material.”

Wide eyes, followed by a slow, thoughtful nod, was his only response for a few minutes, and Jessica let him think. She needed the time to find the best wording for the rest of her answer, anyway.

“Okay,” Peter said quietly after a few minutes, giving her an unnervingly (for him) even look. “And the second?”

“I . . .” she began, only to break into a deep sigh. She was surprised to discover that she really didn’t want to tell him, because this was going to hurt him badly — but she knew that given the choice between hurting himself and hurting Tony, Peter would willingly throw himself off the Empire State Building without his web-shooters.

And if a dark, angry part of herself wanted to see the Rogues be blindsided by the awakening of their pawn and subsequently losing the tiny bit of power they’d managed to accumulate, well . . . hell, yes, she was most definitely looking forward to that.

But above all else, she knew that telling Peter everything now would be better for everyone; that way, nothing was dragged out, he wouldn’t suffer through doubting himself and having second, third, eighteenth thoughts. And the positive changes the knowledge would create in his and Tony’s relationship was worth just about anything.

“They want to hurt Tony,” she told him quietly but with no hesitation. “All of them blame him for their circumstances, because not one of them is able or willing to acknowledge that they are responsible for their own actions. But other than Rogers, Tony honestly doesn’t care about them. He doesn’t want to be near them, because they’re so hateful, but on a personal level, he doesn’t care about them or their feelings and he sure as hell isn’t willing to help them or make things better or easier for them. And they know that.”

She fixed Peter with a serious look, refusing to let him glance away as she finished her thought.

“Since they can’t get close enough to him to get revenge directly, and Pepper and Rhodes despise them, they decided to use you, by . . .”

She trailed off as another wave of fury washed over Peter, inciting him to come to his feet so he could storm around the roof, spewing some seriously impressive insults and a few curses she noted for her own use later. Outwardly calm, she watched him work his way through his emotions, making no effort to calm him down. He was pissed and needed to vent, and she was superfluous to that. When he finally flung himself back into his chair, his eyes were black with rage, but everything else about him was calm.

Shockingly calm.

Terrifyingly calm.

Jessica was actually unnerved by this, and very little scared her. But if any of the Rogues had entered Peter’s eyesight right then, Jessica was a little afraid that he wouldn’t hesitate before throwing them off the roof.

And for someone as inherently gentle as he was, that was . . . well, terrifying.

Especially since he was also a genius and both Tony and Hope van Dyne had been teaching him the fine art of rapid analysis — meaning that she didn’t actually need to say it for him to get it.

Had she mentioned she needed a drink?

“They’re using my respect and esteem for my mentor to disrespect and hurt him,” Peter stated in a voice so cold, frost blossomed on the lower windows. “I can’t . . .”

He interrupted himself with a bitter scoff and pulled his knees to his chest, the fury draining away so quickly, Jess blinked in confusion, and was caught completely off-guard when he looked at her with teary eyes so full of hurt, of pain, that she would have killed every member of Rogers’ team for that reason alone, and plaintively asked, “What do I do? I’m not — I’m not Mist—I’m not Tony, or you. I don’t know how to tell people off. I—I can’t . . .”

Now this? This she could answer, and the relief at being able to help was overwhelming . . . and yet, not something she was comfortable with.

But as she looked at Peter and saw his innocence, his heart, his drive, and his determination to be good for the world and for himself, she saw the future as clear as day and knew she wouldn’t have a choice. Before long, she’d be just as enamored with the kid as Tony and Pepper.

And no, it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, but she didn’t intend to rush the process along, either.

But she was wandering again.

“You don’t have to,” she said gently, smiling despite herself when his brows crinkled with confusion. “All you have to do is stop playing their game. That’s literally it. But you’ll have to stop meeting them alone, too.”

Peter’s bitter snort still surprised her, even after she saw the changes wrought by new understandings, and he abruptly stood up, eyes dark and icy with resolve. He looked so much like Tony in that moment that it was both frightening and heartwarming, and Jess relaxed.

He’d be okay.

She was still looking forward to the smackdown with vicious glee, though.

~~~

To her irritation, though not to her surprise, she wasn’t there the first time Peter called Tony ‘Tony’, and FRIDAY refused to show her the video. She did get a nice picture of Tony’s face when he registered what his kid just said, and if she sniffled and teared up a little—

Like hell she did. She was Jessica Fucking Jones.

Still. Peter understanding what Tony wanted from him and why, and finally giving it to him, eased a ball of tension even Jessica hadn’t realized was there, and things with the Accords and recruitment for new teams were going so smoothly that she found herself looking around suspiciously, wondering if this was some kind of set-up. She’d suspect Strange of pulling a prank, but the man had no sense of humor whatsoever — and that was coming from her, Jessica ‘I hate you all’ Jones. But damned if Stephen Strange didn’t have her beat with his complete lack of enjoyment of life outside his Sanctum.

Life went on as normal. It was irritating, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Until the mandatory, monthly team meeting three weeks after Peter stopped calling Tony ‘Mister Stark’ and also cut ties with the Rogues. He’d even gone so far as to refuse to be in a room alone with any of them, and had no qualms about asking FRIDAY to call someone to come back if they tried to corner him. It was hilarious to watch, really, and Jess was very proud of the way Peter had matured since that night on the roof. At her suggestion and Tony’s strong support, he’d started spending time with Matt Murdock, learning how use all of his senses to read people, both the obvious intentions and the hidden motives.

(according to Matt, it was a work in progress. A long work in progress. The kid tried hard, but since he himself was so honest, he always took everyone at face value as well, and breaking him of that habit was going to be — direct quote — “A fucking nightmare to accomplish. But when I’m done, I won’t be able to tell his lies from his truth.”

So they all had something to look forward to.)

While her mind was wandering — and it really needed to quit that shit, because one day, it wasn’t going to come back — the meeting had passed uneventfully and people were getting ready to leave.

“All right, Kiddo, it’s Obstacle Course Day,” Tony said, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder and getting an excited grin in response. “I came prepared this time; there’s a confetti cannon down there, if you can beat Deadpool’s time.”

Peter laughed delightedly in response and came lithely to his feet, making a point of putting himself between Tony and the Rogues, who were still seated at the table. All of them wore an expression of dissatisfaction; Barton was clearly the most unhappy, though Rogers was a close second, and Romanova was just as blatantly scheming to get herself back on Peter’s good side.

“It better not be red this time, Dad,” he replied — and Jessica nearly choked. Rogers did, coughing violently, while the rest of them gaped at the pair in horrified understanding. “It’s just too confusing to know who we’re congratulating with red confetti.”

Tony shuddered at some memory before firmly shaking his head. “Nope, not red. Purple and green, because you, my son, are going to kick everyone’s ass and deserve the royal treatment.”

And with that, they sauntered out of the room, excitedly comparing notes about a new strategy Peter wanted to try. Another clear ‘Dad’ echoed down the hall and Rogers and Company collectively turned green. They had failed and knew it . . . but worse, Peter knew what they’d been trying to do and had just given them the best ‘fuck you’ Jessica might ever have seen.

Well, no, not the best, but it was definitely in the Top 5.

She didn’t bother speaking to any of the assholes, as there was no point and no reason. The lesson had been well and truly given . . . and so had the insult.

If anyone was actually surprised several weeks later that the morons finally managed to violate whatever privacy clause Tony had written into their pardons, well . . . oh, please. The only people stupid enough and oblivious enough to be surprised were the Rogues.

If Jessica finagled a recording of that meeting, where they were informed of their newly-restricted pardons status, complete with the reasons why it was happening and their immediate move to new, UN-approved Accords accommodations instead of the Compound . . . fuck, yeah, she did. And if people heard that she played it at night to help put her to sleep, well . . . Matt was a lying liar who lied.

She watched it every morning after she woke up and finished her first cup of coffee; it was the best way to guarantee she had at least thirty good minutes a day.

And to think: all of it started from something as simple as a name.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

R.E.S.P.E.C.T (find out what it means to me)

Given the fact that Midtown was a STEM school, it came as no surprise when the standard 2-year waiting period for their request for a field trip was approved and planned.

For Peter Parker, said approval occurred in his junior year, which was the best year of high school, all things being equal. You were past the ‘first year’ jitters, as it were, but not yet drowning in the sheer amount of stuff you had to do in your senior year. Junior year was the year you were supposed to just enjoy school (if you were a person who liked school, that is).

Given Peter Parker’s Luck, it came as no surprise to anyone that the field trip in question was one of ten approved by Stark Industries.

Because of course it was.

This was profoundly bad news for Peter for two main reasons: one being that Flash, having overhead Ned talking about Peter’s internship with SI, had made it his mission in life to ensure everyone at Midtown, their third cousins, and all the family pets knew said internship was a lie. How many students actually believed Flash compared to those who believed Peter but kept quiet to keep from antagonizing Flash would forever remain a mystery, but the end result was another barrier between Peter and his peers.

In and of itself, that didn’t bother him much. He’d never been one of the popular kids, even before Flash decided that Peter was his own personal boogeyman, so he rarely noticed the attitude of anyone other than Ned and, eventually, MJ.

The teachers and staff, on the other hand . . . that was a problem.

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize this problem existed until the day the aforementioned field trip was announced. He was sulking in his seat and blocking out Ned’s excited incoherence because he had no desire to go on this excursion, for reasons both obvious and not, when his name was called as the rest of his class ran out the door, chattering excitedly about how awesome Stark Tower was going to be and would they maybe get a glimpse of Tony Stark from across a conference room.

“Peter!”

His name being snapped loudly finally got Peter’s attention and he looked up at Mr. Harrington in surprise, having not expected to be yelled at for no reason he could think of. “Sir?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows in curiosity as he straightened in his seat.

The subsequent declaration — not even an accusation; it was a statement of fact — that he was lying about being an intern at SI and the much worse accusation of faking the documents, reports, and signatures nearly sent the young man into a rage, but he managed to summon Spiderman’s discipline long enough to keep his temper in check and just nodded stiffly at the stern admonition to ‘behave and conduct himself as though he was a worthwhile student of Midtown’ before stalking from the room. Behind the harsh, pulsing anger at finding out his teachers genuinely had such a low opinion of him was a potent mix of fear and frustration, because he was caught in the perfect Catch-22.

He could very easily prove them wrong. It would take one phone call.

But then what? It wasn’t like any of the adults at Midtown would admit they were wrong, unless a serious lawsuit was threatened, and even if they did say the words, none of them would mean it. But they would take out their embarrassment and humiliation on Peter, which — well, frankly, that was a headache he didn’t need.

So what to do?

The obvious solution was for him to simply not go on the field trip, but he knew that wasn’t an option even as the thought occurred. May was amazing in a lot of ways, but she could not understand how precarious Peter’s position was. She wasn’t academically intelligent enough to have been bullied and harassed the way her nephew was, so she couldn’t truly understand it, much less the way the social hierarchy at Midtown worked. But beyond that, she had the irritating adult habit of assuming that Peter was exaggerating how bad things were and thus, not taking him seriously when he tried to get out of doing a school-related activity. And in this case, considering he spent a third of his life at the Tower, mostly working with Tony, sometimes with Pepper, and spending the rest of his time with the upper-level interns, May would think that him taking a school trip to his second home was hilarious, not dangerous. And nothing he said or did would change her mind, because she was stubborn like that.

So that meant asking her to refuse to let him go on this field trip was out. He wasn’t even going to bother trying, because he had no desire to be lectured and/or laughed at for ‘being a wuss’.

Talking to Tony was the next logical step, even though that wouldn’t really solve anything either.

Because the other half of this clusterfuck was the fact that the Rogue team led by Rogers had returned to the US nearly a year earlier. Peter did not like any of them, though he managed to stay civil because there was no getting rid of them until after the invasion Tony knew was coming finally happened and was dealt with. When Peter had hesitantly asked why the group of backstabbing traitors was needed, Tony had heaved a giant sigh and, doing Peter the courtesy of respecting his intelligence, explained in plain terms that they weren’t, but Rogers in particular would destroy everything in his way in order to get in the middle of a fight he felt was ‘rightfully his’ (yes, Tony did use air quotes, he was that disgusted with the situation). And while T’Challa was perfectly capable of keeping the group subdued, he would refuse to do so for political reasons. As long as the Rogues weren’t causing trouble, he was fine with them staying in his country, but the second they began making waves and threatening to expose Wakanda’s secrets, all bets were off.

And since the world knew exactly what kind of damage Steve Rogers would do to get what he wanted, Tony decided to preemptively circumvent the carnage.

To their credit, the Accords Panel did try to keep the Rogues away from Tony, by presenting a plan for one year of house arrest in UN-approved housing and an Accords liaison. Unfortunately for everyone, however, the majority of the world wasn’t comfortable with that, arguing that an Accords liaison wasn’t remotely able to keep the group in line or stop them from engaging in their preferred habits of going wherever they wanted, wreaking havoc and destruction, and leaving.

But Tony Stark was.

And because 102 of the original 117 signatory countries agreed with this assessment, Tony found himself forced to babysit a group of people he wouldn’t spit on if they were on fire.

Worse, he was forced to house them in the Compound, due to both its remote location and the fact that it was already designed and built to accommodate them, though he flat-out refused to allow Barnes to step foot in anything he owned and after he summoned the full Iron Man suit on the one moron who pushed the issue, the Accords Council unanimously agreed that everyone was better served to leave the man in Wakanda (Rogers’ wails of outrage were ignored, and he was given the option of staying permanently with Barnes, complete with ankle monitor, or returning to the US with his team. The three weeks he took to decide resulted in a betting pool with a final sum that exceeded a million dollars, all of which was donated to the Damage Fund created for the victims of Bucharest).

But Tony refused to live there full-time, as he had a company to help run and a young man to mentor — and, you know, they all loathed the other side. Naturally, instead of agreeing to the addition of a few Accords people and UN soldiers to watch the team while Tony had to be at the Tower — because that would be logical, make sense, and not inconvenience anyone — those same countries demanded that the Rogues go with Tony to the Tower on his long-term trips.

So it only followed that Peter and the Rogues formally met fairly quickly. To their collective surprise, he liked none of them, and worse, he held no awe or respect for them either. Leipzig had done a lot to tarnish his hero-worship, but the final blow was struck when they hid for two years while Tony worked himself into officially diagnosed exhaustion to get amendments approved — changes he’d intended to fight for from the very beginning — and expand recruitment and partnership of other enhanced people to prepare for the coming invasion, only to realize he had no choice but to bring the Rogues back or risk another swath of destruction.

(Siberia was never mentioned, but Peter was far from stupid and Tony hadn’t destroyed that suit immediately. Peter saw the damage and knew without a word being spoken)

The problem with the Rogues was this: they all despised Tony, and vice versa. They also knew Peter neither liked nor respected them, and it took little time for the feeling to become mutual. Admittedly, this was in large part because he was Tony’s protégé — on every level — and had not been shy about showing his loyalty to Tony while firmly rebuffing every attempt they made to ‘mentor’ and ‘teach’ him themselves. So their response was to ‘tease’ him on the occasions they were all in the same place at the same time.

Romanova had tried to break into his room so many times, Pepper had turned it into a drinking game (while also keeping very detailed records of the attempts; like Tony, she had accepted the necessity of the Rogues’ usefulness for the coming fight. Unlike him, she refused to allow them to stay a second longer than was legally and contractually necessary . . . and if she had memorized the conditions of their pardons, well, could anyone blame her?), while Barton and Wilson devolved back into adolescence themselves, playing ‘pranks’ that even the average teenage boy wouldn’t find funny and left Peter rolling his eyes and avoiding them as best he could (which wasn’t very well, unless he was in Tony’s private lab, since none of the group had jobs that would get them out of the Tower. They literally had nothing better to do than stalk and annoy Peter, and frequently by extension, Tony).

Wanda left him alone after the third time he webbed her to the ceiling in response to her attempts to mentally assault him and she’d peed all over herself because the webs he used took a good three hours to dissolve. The others tried intimidating Peter (Romanova) into apologizing by blustering in outrage at him (Rogers) and ambushing him at doors with silly string and the like (Barton and Wilson), only to be stonewalled by an impressively blank look, which Hope took full credit for, and also being webbed to the wall or ceiling. But once Wanda stopped assaulting Peter, he was overjoyed to leave her alone, which left them without that excuse to bother him.

Rogers was the odd one: in a complete turnabout from his established personality, he ignored Peter entirely, unless another member of his team was involved — outside his once-a-week attempt to get the young man to leave Tony and submit himself instead to Steve’s ‘teaching’ and ‘wisdom’. His efforts were so constant, Peter had stopped verbally answering him; he just left the room when Rogers entered, something that amused Tony to no end (he’d stopped being outraged by the man’s persistence the first time he’d heard Peter’s dry demand for Rogers to explain a basic scientific concept to him. When he’d gotten nothing but a blank stare, the young man had nodded and asked him to solve a 6^th-grade algebraic equation instead. When Rogers failed that as well, Peter had looked him straight in the eye and said, “How, exactly, do you plan to tutor me in my chosen educational fields, when you don’t know the elemental combination of salt and can’t figure out that ‘x’ equals 4?”

Rogers’ incoherent stuttering was very satisfying to see . . . but even that pointed humiliation wasn’t enough to deter his efforts to recruit Peter to his team).

The end result was a very tense civility, because one of the things Tony, Pepper, and Hope van Dyne had finally managed to instill in Peter while the Rogues were in hiding was self-respect. It still didn’t come naturally to him and probably never would, but when he was pushed or found himself in a position where it was necessary, Peter could be as commanding as the CEOs in his life. He wasn’t rude to the team, but he didn’t cater to their bullshit, either. This, of course, only spurred them on in their efforts to either coax him to join their team or simply annoy him into an open retaliation that would justify their behavior.

So Peter wasn’t looking forward to speaking with Tony at the Tower, because he was there for five weeks, meaning the Rogues were also there, and none of them understood the concept of privacy. This could kind-of be mitigated by keeping conversations confined to the penthouse, but that never worked, as they inevitably found themselves talking out the various problems or issues as they moved around in public. Peter was going to do his best to keep knowledge of this stupid field trip away from the team, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

Naturally, his Parker Luck came into play and he never had the chance. He had to meet Tony in the Rogues’ kitchen, as something was broken and Tony was repairing it himself. He loathed the group with a passion, but he hated having outsiders in his home more, when they weren’t truly needed.

So Peter exited the elevator to the melodious sounds of AC/DC, Tony’s creative cursing, and the unmistakable sound of spewing water. Knowing his mentor preferred an audience who could appreciate his puns, the young man tossed himself and his backpack on the couch, and waited patiently for the ten minutes it took Tony to fix the issue and put everything back together, the two of them bantering mindlessly and just enjoying the mini-break.

It took him three concise sentences to explain his dilemma, and Tony only sighed and hugged him when he was done. “It’s really so bad that you don’t want to come here for this field trip?” he asked quietly . . . but not judgmentally. He was simply trying to verify what he’d heard, which Peter deeply appreciated.

Unfortunately, just as Tony started talking, someone — oh, joy, several someones — exited the elevator behind them, and he couldn’t stop them from listening.

Barton crowed in delight as he tossed something on the floor and headed for the pair. “Field trip!” he chortled, sounding so gleeful it bordered on deranged. “Oh, we’re gonna have so much fun with you, Peter Pan!”

Despite his intense hatred of that nickname from that person — who he had asked three times to stop using it — Peter ignored him and just nodded to Tony. “Yeah, it’s that bad,” he confirmed, jerking his head back to indicate Barton. “And that’s why.”

“Excuse me?” Sam Wilson demanded indignantly, stomping forward to grab Peter’s shoulder — only to huff in annoyance when, without turning his head, the young man sidestepped with the clear intention of avoiding his touch, and then moved forward before he finally turned to face the Rogues, none of whom had the courtesy to ignore a conversation they were clearly not a part of.

He was partially shielding Tony from the group and it was obvious even to Rogers that his positioning was very deliberate, something that made the man stiffen with insult, while Romanova gave the pair an assessing look. That spiked Peter’s irritation even higher and he snapped, “Yes!” at Wilson. He’d already been annoyed at the basic situation, but he was doubly ticked off by the blatant rudeness of the group he now faced.

So he didn’t mince any words.

“None of you has an ounce of respect, not for Tony and certainly not for me,” he informed them in clipped tones. “So you’re going to act like a pack of wild hyenas and do everything you can to embarrass me, giggling like preschoolers the entire time, and when you get bored or the tour ends, whichever comes first, you’ll saunter back your rooms, completely oblivious to the trouble, the problems, and the destruction you’ve left in your wake.”

He stopped for a very deliberate beat of silence and the tension turned unbearable.

“In other words, it’ll be business as usual for you. And while you’re congratulating yourselves on a job well-done, I’ll have the thankless task of digging myself out from the rubble, all while fending off your fellow hyenas, who are desperate to feed on the soft underbelly you so gleefully exposed to them.”

Now the atmosphere was both fraught and shocked, but Tony didn’t let it last, though he was clearly surprised and also impressed at the poetic description that was not Peter’s normal way of talking.

“Well said,” he murmured after a minute of awkward, yet somehow offended, silence.

Unfortunately, as quiet as he’d been, Tony’s soft words were enough to jolt the Rogues awake.

“Destruction?!” Rogers gasped, looking so affronted he resembled nothing so much as an owl: eyes wide, head cocked at a weird angle, and outrage oozing from every pore. If he’d had feathers, each one would be fluffed out. The image made Peter’s lips twitch in a tiny smile, but it faded even as it formed.

“Yes,” he replied shortly. “But since there is zero reason to ask you not to do it, I’m just not gonna get excited about it.”

“Zero reason?”

That was Wilson, and his plaintive disbelief earned him matching cold looks from Peter and Tony.

“Yeah,” Tony said tersely, putting a protective hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We all know you won’t respect his wishes to stay away no matter what he says, or what I say, so why bother?”

And with that, he stepped forward, eyes as hard as vibranium, and led Peter through the flabbergasted group to the elevator, leaving a heavy silence behind them. Neither of them was surprised to find out later that not a single member of the Rogues felt even a hint of shame, once they’d all processed everything. In fact, they doubled down on their intentions to crash Peter’s field trip, making some truly outrageous plans and refusing to admit those plans were punishment not just for calling them out, but for having the audacity to think for himself and decide that they weren’t a good option for him, or an influence he wanted in his life.

The fact that they were proving every point he had made never once crossed anyone’s mind.

~~~

Two weeks later, the axe fell.

Well, it did if you were Peter.

If you were the rest of his class, the day of the field trip arrived.

It had been a very irritating fourteen days; Peter had done his best to avoid the Rogues, going so far as to only enter the building by way of the penthouse windows, and been mostly successful. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do the same with his classmates or teachers.

After the fourth time he’d been ‘reminded’ that he was forbidden to lie about his internship while they were at SI, he’d stormed to Pepper’s office and spent the next hour venting. It wasn’t the initial assumption that he, a high school student, couldn’t get an internship with SI that rankled; that was true. But the fact that not a single person considered the possibility of an exception boggled his mind — especially when one considered that, according to them, Peter wasn’t exceptional enough to earn his place at SI but was somehow skilled enough, gifted enough, and devious enough to fake SI’s logo and watermark, spoof the company’s official email domain, and forge signatures of people he couldn’t possibly have found using outside sources.

But trying to explain that to Midtown’s staff was like trying to explain the modern world to Steve Rogers: utterly useless and the fastest way to get a migraine.

Tony was aware of the problem, since Peter still couldn’t lie to his mentor for love, money, or apple pie — and, in this situation, he didn't want to. But despite their mutual frustration, the young man had made him swear not to do anything about it during the field trip itself, and for the same reasons he was dreading what the Rogues were going to do: it would only cause Peter more problems than it solved. He wouldn’t find out until the next day that Tony had called in a favor from Magneto and gotten the man to cause a small amount of trouble in Maine, trouble that required the Rogues to subdue instead of the X-Men, and he needed to make sure the fight started the day before the trip and lasted no more than three days. Since Magneto loathed the Rogues as much as Tony did, he easily agreed, so long as Tony considered all debts paid and settled.

Being a genius, Tony understood how precarious Peter’s position was. Being a man who cared greatly for Peter, he agreed to leave things alone until after the damned field trip was over, though it was one of the harder things he’d ever agreed to. It simply didn’t sit well with him to allow people who should damn well know better to treat his mentee, his son, so disrespectfully, especially in his workplace and home. But needs must and they both knew it.

So that was Tony taken care of. It never occurred to anyone to worry about Pepper.

~~~

They were almost done with the trip from hell, and of course, there had been all the expected events: Flash's constant mouthing off, Ned’s overwhelming excitement, and the increasingly hateful attitude of both teachers. They refused to believe that Peter’s ID card was legit, with Harrington nearly giving himself a stroke when Peter refused to back down and admit that he’d somehow managed to hack Tony Stark’s personal security system (while wondering what the fuck was wrong with these people: how could he be undeserving of an internship if he was smart enough to hack the system? How did no one grasp the hypocritical irony of that?).

The truly absurd thing about the ID card was that the tour guide and the security guard took one look at Peter's picture and burst out laughing. It was an image FRIDAY had captured, where Peter was giving Butterfingers a high-five, while DUM-E hoisted a fire extinguisher in the background, and he was the first to acknowledge it wasn't remotely professional.

"Oh, yeah," the guide, Sarai, told a fuming Harrington, still giggling. "The guy in charge of badge and HR photos is a goofball. Our official file photos are the standard 'look here and don't smile' shots, but he loves to get candid pics of the employees for their badges. My 3-year anniversary at SI was a while back and he came to the break room, dropped a party hat sideways on my head, threw an exploding glitter bomb on the table, and . . . well, look."

She showed the teacher her badge and he had to quit glowering in favor of gaping in disbelief: there, in vivid colors, was Sarai, wearing a lopsided neon blue party hat, covered in a cloud of confetti, and laughing helplessly as she tried to bat it away. "Legend has it that he told Miss Potts 'life shouldn't stop being fun just because you came to work'," she continued, letting her badge fall back against her chest, "and she hired him on the spot. I haven't seen those robots in the Robotics Lab, kid, but they're looking good," she added to Peter before making her way to the front of the group.

And thus, the reason Peter hated his life: for literally anyone else, this little interlude would have convinced them that he did, in fact, work at SI. But because it was Roger Harrington, the 'haven't seen those robots' observation trumped everything else and somehow proved that Peter was still lying. But he was too polite to call their tour guide a liar to her face, so he gritted his teeth and petulantly stomped through the security checkpoint, giving Peter a hateful look when he went through with no problem and a standard intern security clearance.

Oh, yes. It was going to be a long, long day.

Then there were the various people who knew Peter and greeted him as they passed by each other, though none of them tried to solicit his help. But naturally, he’d bribed or blackmailed or committed some other nefarious act so they’d fake knowing him, according to Flash. And since Harrington and Warren not only already thought the worst of Peter, they both lacked imagination or, apparently, basic intelligence, this slander was taken as gospel and repeated by both men. This also led to Warren threatening Peter, who by then could not care less about anything, with suspension for not engaging in any of the activities or asking questions. To the man's fury, Peter just shrugged. They couldn’t suspend him for not wanting to be there, and the school officials were going to get a very, very unpleasant surprise in a few days regarding SI and Peter, so he tried hard to ignore the unfair treatment.

But even though he was Spiderman, Peter was also a sixteen-year-old boy. And yes, he’d been given a lot of training and encouragement in the last year by three of the most successful businesspeople on the planet, but he still had very low self-esteem and had also been putting up with this bullshit for more than two years with no relief.

So when things were pushed too far and he finally snapped, it surprised exactly no one with a working brain that Tony stepped in.

Pepper’s arrival?

That was unexpected . . . especially since she was actually breathing fire when she stormed into the room. 

Harrington was in the middle of chewing Peter out for the fifth time about his insubordinate attitude and his refusal to stop lying when he grabbed Peter’s arm after the young man scoffed and started to walk away.

And that was it.

Tony could no longer stand back and watch. He silently apologized to Peter for breaking his promise, but he simply could not allow this blatant abuse to continue. As usual, the room went dead silent when he sauntered in, eyes going wide and jaws dropping. Peter was the exception to this; when he saw Tony, his eyes showed only relief and more than a little desperation, and Tony gave him a reassuring nod.

“Is there a reason you’re harassing my personal intern and apprentice?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice. The teacher manhandling his kid didn’t let go, causing him to twist Peter’s arm as he jerked around, face slack with shock and horror.

“Y—what?” the man gasped, clearly unable to process Tony’s words, and he growled quietly.

“Is there a reason you’re harassing my personal intern and apprentice?” he repeated, eyes blazing with rage now, and Harrington swallowed hard. Understanding finally washed over his face and he went white, letting go of Peter and stumbling back a step, while Warren just looked horrified.

This was in large part because Pepper had just entered the lab, but neither Tony nor Peter knew that yet.

“I—your—but—” Harrington stuttered, unable to form a coherent thought . . . but Warren was the one who pulled the pin on the grenade that was Peter Parker’s temper.

“I’m sorry, Peter!” he gasped, twisting his hands together and giving the boy a beseeching look. “We . . . I . . . it’s just so . . . I’m sorry,” he said again, helplessly — but something about it rang hollow and made Tony’s teeth itch.

Peter clearly felt the same thing — and his support system was there.

“No, you aren’t,” the young man said calmly, staring his teacher down. “You aren’t remotely sorry. You don’t feel the slightest ounce of remorse for thinking so badly of me that you — both of you — have accused me to my face multiple times of not just lying about having a place here at SI, but also of forging paperwork, emails, reports, and signatures. You genuinely believe that I’m capable of that — worse, you really think I did it!”

He paused for several seconds, breathing hard, and gave both men contemptuous looks before continuing.

“The only reason you’re apologizing now is because Tony is here. You’ve refused to believe any of the other six people who have verified my employment, because apparently I’m some kind of Pied Piper or maybe Steve Rogers, and can somehow beguile people into following me blindly. But now Tony Stark is here and clearly knows me, so you’re ‘sorry’ because you’re terrified I’m going to ask him to destroy you.”

He stopped again, lifted his chin a little more, and stared his teachers down, finally taking some control of his life and reputation back.

Tony had never been prouder of anyone in his life.

“Congratulations,” his son said coldly, quietly, and everyone in the room swallowed nervously. “You’re finally right about something. I am going to let him handle this . . . but what he does is up to him. And good luck to you and Morita when you explain to Pepper exactly why you’ve ignored and disregarded the paperwork she herself has been sending over on my behalf. I’d feel sorry for you, but — well, I don’t. You have this coming. I have told you and told you and told you that everything was legit and you’ve ignored me, bullied me, and threatened me." He paused and took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and continued in a voice dripping with frigid contempt. "This is where I'm supposed to say that I understand, right? It was an outrageous story and I wouldn't have believed me either, so everything you did and said is okay. Isn't that how the story goes?"

It was absurd, how quickly hope and relief washed away the knowledge of their own culpability. Tony's lip curled as he watched both teachers prove Peter's point about their complete lack of remorse.

Still, well-deserved as it was, watching his son ruthlessly crush that hope and relief into tiny shards of horrified understanding was extremely disquieting.

"Well. I've never been one to enjoy standard, predictable storylines," he informed them conversationally. They both went fishbelly white. "I’m done. I don't accept your 'apology', nothing can possibly justify your behavior, it isn't 'okay' or 'understandable', and I don't forgive you.”

Seeing their future disintegrate before their eyes was highly satisfying; watching the pair of jackasses — and that asshole kid, too — flail for some kind of stability in their shattered world was even better, especially since said flailing was both physical and mental. 

The sudden sound of heels clacking was ominous and the crowd pulled back, clearing a path for Pepper as she strolled to Peter’s side, bypassing the teachers with a disdainful sidestep and a small burst of flames that hit them both harder than a punch to the face would have, and took instant ownership of the room. 

“Well said, Peter,” she told him warmly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and giving Tony a sharp nod that he returned before moving to stand on the young man's other side. The three of them were presenting a united front that even Steve Rogers couldn’t mistake and Tony was positive that both teachers pissed their pants at the sight. “Is there anything you feel would be an appropriate response beyond the lawsuits we’ll be filing for the mishandling of our official, legally-binding paperwork, and the charges of assault we’re pressing against the teacher who just put his hands on you in a room with full video and audio recording?”

Harrington actually swooned, and it was the funniest thing Tony had ever seen, even as the memory of the asshole grabbing his kid infuriated him all over again.

Peter just shrugged . . . but there was a dark vindictiveness in his eyes that made Tony proud, though it also saddened him. His kid was too good, too nice, to feel such dark emotions. But the older man couldn’t deny that it was warranted, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell Peter that he didn’t deserve to be angry and hurt and betrayed at the actions of people who were charged to protect and teach him.

“Just something public, something they can’t sweep under the rug,” Peter said slowly. “They need to learn up close and personal that actions have consequences. But I can’t think of anything that could possibly be better than what you’ll decide,” he stated, giving her a look of mingled admiration, adoration, and awe that Tony absolutely understood and agreed with.

Then the kid blew his mind.

“But let Tony have some fun, too,” he added, giving his mentor an impish grin that nearly had Tony and Pepper both breaking out into laughter — especially when Harrington swayed on his feet again and Warren sagged against the nearest student. Unfortunately for him, it was Ned, who scoffed and moved away. To be honest, Tony wasn’t entirely sure how the man didn’t immediately fall on his ass, but watching him thrash around for balance was funny.

That, however, was a question for later, when he got bored and wanted to play with the laws of physics to create a new robot. For now, he just nodded and said, “You got it, Peter. Go ahead and head to our lab, okay? This tour is done and there’s no point to you going to school and coming right back.”

“Sure,” the kid agreed — and then proceeded to show off his smartass side, one that no one but Ned had really seen before, and earned dropped jaws from everyone present, employees and students alike.

Because he took Pepper’s hand and bowed over it, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss over her knuckles.

And Pepper Potts, CEO of the biggest company on the planet, fiancée of Tony Stark, stepmother to Peter, and all-around badass woman, actually fucking blushed.

Tony, on the other hand, made the executive decision that Peter was not allowed to spend time with Loki ever again.

The kid was making everyone look bad, and he wasn’t even trying!

Not a word was spoken as he and Ned did their handshake and made quick plans to meet up the next afternoon. No one breathed when Pepper reminded them all that they’d signed NDAs that she knew were worthless when it came to Tony and Peter and his position at SI . . . but then she sweetly told the entire room that if she wasn’t able to pinpoint the exact person or persons who violated said NDA, there was a clause in there that allowed SI to legally pursue everyone who had signed. And SI’s lawyers did not lose.

It was a quiet, stunned, humbled group of people who left Stark Industries that day. Some of the students were vindicated, others humiliated, but everyone except Ned was shocked. Never would anyone have imagined that Peter Parker had that kind of attitude, much less that sort of confidence. It was a massive wake-up call for many people, although little changed for Peter himself, a fact he was grateful for.

As for Midtown?

Pepper and Tony and May brainstormed all weekend (there might have been mojitos and a few sangrias involved) and finally came up with the perfect punishment.

Every single member of the staff who had blatantly disrespected Peter or accused him of lying about his internship had to individually go to every classroom in the school and formally admit their crimes before apologizing for their actions. It couldn’t be done all on the same day, and none of the staff could accompany another member. So everyone, students and staff alike, were simultaneously shamed and entertained for more than a month.

Was it an unusual solution?

Very much so.

Was it more than little harsh, possibly even bordering on cruel?

Hell, yes.

Was it warranted?

Absolutely, as Peter was hardly the only student who had suffered not just that kind of disrespect, but also a lack of support when they tried to report their problems.

Did it serve its purpose?

Amazingly enough, it did. It actually worked. The two teachers who refused to comply resigned — and immediately found themselves in a very bad place. The day after their resignations were processed, their teaching credentials were revoked and the lawsuits SI filed against Midtown — both as an entity andl as certain individuals — showed up on their history. Neither of the former teachers was able to find stable work, in any field, and when they complained to various friends and family, they were met with a shocking lack of sympathy. It was pointed out that all they’d had to do was accept their punishment and things would have been fine. They were the ones who had let their pride rule their lives, and now they got to find out that pride couldn’t make money, feed, or clothe them.

It was a very humbling, very effective lesson.

And Peter? Very little changed for him. He would never be the most popular kid in school, but that was fine. He had no desire for that anyway. He had Ned and MJ, and the members of the AcaDec team, since they no longer had to fear Flash, and that was enough.

But the next time he made an assertion that sounded outrageous at first, not a single person objected. They listened, they researched, and few people were surprised when it turned out that he was right.

Isn’t it amazing what respect can do?

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Karma (the Bitch with Standards)

When it came to karma, Tony Stark freely admitted he could go either way, but he tended to lean on the ‘doesn’t happen’ side.

After all, he’d certainly never been lucky enough to see the people who hurt him get their comeuppance, unless it was at his hands — which wasn’t, technically speaking, ‘karma’.

It didn’t occur him until he was into his forties that the reason people were so unsure about karma was because, quite simply, he wasn’t unique and that very few people got to see it in action. In hindsight, this made sense. How could it be fun for the universe to let the person who’d been wronged see their tormentor receive their just desserts?

Still, every so often, the universe either got bored or lost a bet, and that lucky person got to see karma in all of her full, blazing glory.

For Tony Stark, today was that day.

It had started more than seven months prior, when Loki showed up on Earth, battered, bruised, and eyes burning with green fire instead of empty blue fervor, with frantic tales of the same incoming invasion Tony had been warning everyone about for four years. Naturally, there was a great deal of panic and hysteria, but after the UN calmed down and got over itself and actually listened to what both Tony and Loki had to say, information confirmed by Stephen Strange’s truth spell (which, really? Where was that during every political election ever?) and backed up by Thor’s testimony of abduction, mind-control, schemes hidden within plans, and betrayal at the highest levels, Loki had been welcomed as a member of the Defenders — after being threatened with all manner of bodily harm and/or death.

This started and ended with Peter, who had designated himself as Tony Stark’s personal guard — and he took no chances with his father’s health and safety (often to the amusement of their teammates, especially since Tony mostly-willingly allowed it even as he grumbled and groused about overprotective Spiderlings. Since as he was equally as protective of said Spiderling, with just as much bitching and moaning, their fellow Defenders seldom lacked for entertainment).

Loki, to his credit, did Peter the honor of taking him seriously, and therefore made no effort to lie about or downplay his prior attempts to harm Tony, when they had been on opposite sides, and was also honest about when and how his subsequent admiration for the man had developed. Peter had heard the alien out, considered his words for quite a while, and finally accepted his explanation and apology before threatening him with a nebulous fate that nonetheless managed to be ominous — before webbing him to the floor and his mouth shut and then leaving without a word. Once Loki got over the shock and outrage of the boy’s actions, he’d been greatly amused and even more impressed at Peter’s loyalty to his father, along with his willingness to act on it.

The true beginning of their bond happened a few weeks later, when Peter saved Loki during a minor scuffle, involving rogue sorcerers, an actual fucking magic hat, and a rabbit of truly massive size (apparently, it had been hit by an enlarging spell by mistake; after one moment of disgusted realization, none of the team had even tried to ask). Loki had turned in time to see Peter web away his would-be attacker and, disgruntled at being rescued by a child, informed him that he’d been in no danger and would easily have handled it.

Peter’s response?

“I know, but you would have had to break your ‘I’m The Mage, bitches’ pose you were in, and that just would have been wrong.”

Everyone but Loki had stared at Spiderman with varying degrees of trepidation (or, in James Rhodes’ case, outright horror; he knew exactly what was about to happen, may God help them all). Loki just looked delighted.

Three days later, Peter and Loki were inseparable, and by the end of the week, Ned, Harley, Nebula, and Wade had joined them and formed a group that was positively alarming to the adults in the room, as adorable as they could all be when they chose.

As with most teams numbering more than two people, there were personality clashes (Jessica Jones), instant friendships (Deadpool, and dear God the combination of that maniac and Loki was terrifying), and the lukewarm ‘I’ll watch your back but your taste in music is atrocious, so we aren’t meeting up for drinks anytime soon’ acquaintance (Iron Fist, but the man liked Fatboy Slim. Tony was entirely on Loki’s side there).

Except for one Peter Benjamin Parker.

How he managed it, Tony could not begin to fathom, but Peter had somehow become the beating heart of this new team — except for him. Tony Stark was immune, naturally. It wasn’t like he thought of the boy as a son or anything, and he naturally found himself both wary and grateful when Loki literally adopted the kid as a brother — one he genuinely liked, unlike Thor. Things in that relationship were getting better, sure, but it would never be an easy bond, and Peter was so very easy to love (Loki changed his last name to ‘Peter’s Brother’, for heaven’s sake. Thankfully for Tony, Peter kept his name of Parker, though adding Stark was a strong possibility in the near future).

It was unsurprising, then, that after Peter came to truly trust his new group of siblings, he began to show some deeper vulnerability. Then everything changed one night as The Loco Seis (thank you, Carol, for the Spanish, because that made sense) were having a movie night. They started out bingeing all three Back to the Future movies before playing some bizarre version of Spin the Bottle for Netflix and landing on a mini-series called Defending Jacob. And then he had a panic attack during the second episode for what, at first, seemed to be no reason. And after Tony had calmed him down and brought him back to the present, Peter naturally denied knowing why the attack had happened, or why it was so brutal.

But Loki was the Liesmith, so he saw immediately that Peter knew exactly what had set him off and why . . . and he shocked everyone in the building when he displayed an astonishing amount of tact and gentleness while coaxing the truth out of his little brother.

Which was how the most powerful man on earth, who was also Peter’s father, two of the most dangerous aliens also on earth, one certifiably insane — and insanely protective — mercenary, and another of Peter’s adopted brothers found out about Steven ‘Skip’ Westcott.

Loki actually had to weave a sleep spell around the entire group to keep them from raging off right that second to kill the child rapist, but he refused to allow the man to get off so easily.

Not when there was another, much more satisfying, method of vengeance available.

It would, however, require Stark’s approval and assistance, which, given his own paternal experiences, gave Loki a few minutes of pause. But only a few minutes; he’d seen for himself just how protective Tony Stark was of his sons, after all. And the man had a truly diabolical appreciation for the punishment fitting the crime — which was why the entire team of Rogues was serving community service on construction sites in Leipzig or Bucharest . . . by way of cleaning and maintaining port-a-potties. After eight years of that (one year for each million dollars of damage they’d done), they would be placed in specially-built prisons in various third-world countries, where they would all serve life sentences. Except for the witch; she had already been sentenced to death and executed.

Once the sentences that he had personally recommended were approved and announced, Stark’s cold, vindicated satisfaction would stay with Loki Pétrsbróðir for the rest of his life. Given the choice between angering Thanos and upsetting Tony Stark, Loki would take his chances with Thanos any day of the week.

So he had to have Stark’s approval. But Peter didn’t need to hear his plan, and frankly, neither did the others; they were simply too volatile to allow them to assist. This would require a very delicate touch and the kind of discipline that Loki and Stark had learned while being mentally and physically tortured. So he made sure that his little brother was well and truly asleep, tossed another blanket over his shoulders, and carefully moved Stark to his private office before asking the Lady FRIDAY to soundproof the room. Once they were as secure as Loki could make them on such short notice, he woke Peter’s father, then waited patiently for the man to finish ranting and venting his feelings about the scum-sucking, worthless piece of filth who had dared harm his child. It took a while, though it was extremely educational.

“Why are we here?” Stark abruptly demanded, startling Loki out of his silent contemplation of using some of the anatomically-impossible positions Stark had mentioned on his own enemies, and he blinked, caught completely off-guard for the first time in centuries. Still, he was Loki of — well, several places and cultures — and he recovered immediately.

“I know how to enact vengeance for Peter, but it will require your compliance and assistance . . . and your silence.”

That startled the other man into a dropped jaw as he visibly processed Loki’s words, followed by a silent but lethal promise of pain coming to his face as he slowly straightened in his chair.

“Why my silence?” he asked, his voice so neutral that Loki visibly cringed. It was easy to forget, sometimes, how very dangerous Tony Stark could be when the people he cared about were threatened. Which was precisely why Loki needed him to carry out his plan, and the reminder helped him regain his composure.

“Because Peter is simply too soft-hearted to approve of this, even though it will help him while also punishing his attacker. And I will not allow this . . . rifjlkrfs . . . to remain free of consequences. Nor will I permit him to continue to commit such despicable acts. I can do both, but it will require this . . . person . . . to be here, with Peter, for a period of no more than thirty minutes. They will both be unconscious,” he placated Stark, raising a hand as the man surged out of his chair, rage blazing in his eyes at the thought of putting his son on the same continent as his rapist. When that didn’t work, he was forced to use a tiny bit of seiðr to keep the man in place until he calmed down enough to think clearly.

It took less time than he’d expected, but like too much of the world, Loki had the bad habit of forgetting that Tony Stark was a literal genius, in every sense of the word. Maybe four minutes later, Tony had processed his instinctive anger at Loki’s proposal, remembered that the alien prince had claimed Peter as his brother, and would, in fact, do just about anything to keep him safe and happy.

“Explain,” he demanded curtly, almost shocking Loki into another dimension when he casually broke free of the stillness spell he’d cast and sat back down, looking imperiously up at Loki and silently ordering his submission.

Again to his shock, Loki obeyed.

And when he was done talking, Tony Stark was ready to draw up a third set of adoption papers, the idea was so perfectly Machiavellian. But more importantly, it would help purge Peter of at least one of the horrors he couldn’t escape in his nightmares. There wasn’t a way to completely rid him of the memories, unfortunately; the violation had occurred so long ago that it was too ingrained in his mind. But Loki’s solution would dull both his memories and their related emotions so that, to Peter, it would be as though sixty years had passed, rather than seven. The sensations would never be fresh or clear again, but rather blurred and indistinct, and were unlikely to keep haunting him.

“He should still speak to a mind healer,” Loki advised at the end of his explanation, strongly relieved when Stark merely nodded in agreement. “But it won’t be debilitating or traumatizing the way it is now. How long will it take you to find the rifjlkrfs?”

Tony gave him a grim smile and called, “FRIDAY?”

“He’s in New Jersey, Boss,” the AI replied, projecting the information on the computer on the desk. “Here’s his address, work schedule, and criminal records. I took the liberty of unsealing them for you.”

“That’s my girl,” Stark praised her before studying the data. Something clearly disturbed him about it, because his mouth twisted in displeasure, and he turned to look at Loki. “Can you tell if the parents knew about their son’s . . . about what he was doing?” he asked, his voice cold with angry suspicion. Loki took no offense, as it was clear the emotion wasn’t directed at him, and nodded.

“Of course,” he replied. “I just need to be in the same room. It matters not who asks, so long as I can see and hear them.”

Dark satisfaction flared in Stark’s eyes and he set his jaw. “Good. Then let’s go pick the fuckers up.”

The last thing Loki wanted to do was get in the way of that paternal rage, but he knew he needed to. Why he had expected Peter’s father to wait was anyone’s guess, as the man had exactly no patience when it came to meting out justice (well, justice that he had control over), but there needed to be a few precautions taken and set up.

“Not yet,” he said carefully, holding up both hands in a placating gesture when Stark started to get up again, eyes burning even darker with fury. “We need to get everyone but young Ned far away from here, or it will never succeed. I must have a tranquil environment for this to be successful, and Leeds isn’t just the person Peter trusts the most; he was also clearly aware of the situation, meaning he’s the best option for ensuring Peter remains calm while I work. And he’ll be a familiar, soothing presence after, just in case it’s necessary.”

That made Tony stop, clearly frustrated and unhappy, but he didn’t argue the logic. His grumbling acceptance of the situation was somewhat amusing, but Loki kept that to himself. Stark was clearly still walking the razor’s edge of sanity at the knowledge of the violation his son had suffered, and though Loki had mitigated that to a small degree, he had no illusions it would last. At some point in the near future, Stark would don one of his suits and find a condemned building or three to destroy.

Of course, Loki would be doing the same, but he would be alone as well. Despite the trust and even affection that had grown between the two men, they were still solitary creatures, a habit developed from necessity, and their unrestrained anger was simply too dangerous for other people to be near.

But Peter was worth anything, and the people who loved him would make sure that even God didn’t have mercy on the soul of the man who had hurt him so badly.

~~~

Eight days later, everything was in place, though getting the other three members of their group out of town took a great deal of finagling, and ultimately, a hefty bribe from Stark in the form the rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy and their attendance to some sort of demented amusement park devoted to something called ‘cartoon characters’ (and great Norn, keeping that a secret from Peter and Ned took more planning than most battles). Loki and Rhodes had accompanied Stark to the residence of the rifjlkrfs, where it took them less than five minutes to confirm the son’s guilt and the parents’ complicity. That knowledge resulted in another burst of rage, but this time, it was Stark joining forces with Loki to keep Rhodes from using his repulsors to turn all three of them into quadruple amputees, and Tony finally had to force his best friend to the ground and physically sit on his chest to calm him down enough to listen to the highly-edited but still informative explanation of what Loki was going to do.

The grin that split the colonel’s lips would give Loki nightmares for the next week.

Shaking off the sensation for the time being, Loki calmly transported the group two at a time back to the Compound, where Peter was in a mage-induced deep sleep on the living room couch and Ned was nervously pacing the kitchen. He stopped short as the group began to shimmer into place in front of him, but Loki was again surprised by the depths of emotion that humans were capable of.

Because when Ned Leeds, second only to Peter in his gentle nature, saw Skip Westcott, his soul was filled with so much hatred that his aura turned black. Loki rather thought that, had the boy been alone, he would have killed Westcott with his bare hands and never lost a moment of sleep.

Everyone sympathized, but held firm despite their matching desire to end the little bastard’s life. Loki’s punishment was going to be much more satisfying — and better for Peter in every respect.

It took two minutes to get all three Westcotts suitably restrained and laid out flat on cots summoned for the purpose, as they had to be close enough for Loki to be able to touch both them and Peter. They had no clue who had taken them, or why, though all three were wide awake and terrified, with Rhodes taking a vicious glee in gagging and blindfolding them; Tony hadn’t trusted his control enough to do it himself, and Loki found himself admiring both the man’s self-awareness and his discipline.

Then, once Ned had settled himself on the floor at Peter’s head and taken his hand, Loki placed one hand gently on Peter’s forehead and reluctantly curved his other hand over the crossed wrists of the rapist and his enablers to build the mental bridge, closed his eyes to center himself, and took a deep, cleansing breath.

And began.

It took only Skip Westcott’s name to bring the memories to the forefront of Peter’s dreaming mind. And it only took a single, very carefully applied use of seiðr to share not just Peter’s memories of Skip’s brutal assaults, but also to transfer everything he had felt and experienced.

Everything.

Every. Last. Second.

Then all four members of Peter’s family watched with vicious satisfaction as Steven Westcott and his parents were all forced to experience every crime he had perpetuated on nine-year-old Peter Parker, from their victim’s perspective . . . and went completely, totally crazy. The entire family screamed and thrashed and cried and suffered every single second of every single thing Westcott had forced Peter to suffer, while his parents knew and did nothing.

Actively participating in the act of forcing the three perpetrators having no choice but to endure the pain, the degradation, the misplaced shame, the fear, that Peter had lived with in unceasing agony for almost half his life, and then relishing their torment, would likely have horrified anyone else.

These men weren’t anyone else. They were Peter’s father, two of his brothers, and his devoted military uncle exacting justice for one of their own. They couldn’t go back and undo it, and they couldn’t take it away . . . but they could ease his pain. They could exact a fitting punishment on the perpetrators, and take fully-justified vengeance on them.

So they did.

When it was over, when Peter’s memories had finally ended and a drained Loki let the sleep spell fade before carefully casting a second one, this one done at Stark’s demand, to ensure none of them could ever forget, all three Westcotts crashed in pathetic heaps to the floor in their attempts to escape their new living nightmares. Their wrists and ankles were bloody from fighting the restraints and the father had nearly chewed through the gag. All four watchers had dark, grimly satisfied expressions as they observed the writhing, groaning, pitiful forms.

When a whimpering Westcott finally went still, tears streaming down his face, Tony pulled himself free from Rhodes’ grip and walked over to him, looking at him in silence for a very, very long time before he dropped to one knee and grabbed the man’s chin, yanking the blindfold down and forcing him to meet Tony’s icy gaze.

“I could kill you right now and you’d welcome it,” he breathed, eyes darkening when the little worm actually looked hopeful at the prospect. “But I’m not anywhere near that merciful. No. No, you get to the live the rest of your life with this, knowing and feeling exactly what you forced my son to suffer. It will never fade, you’ll never forget, and you will never so much as entertain the thought of death as a release. We’ve already ensured that you don’t get the choice of anything but living. You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison, remembering every single fucking day with perfect clarity the crimes you committed and knowing how much you deserve everything else that’s coming to you.”

He stopped and wrinkled his nose in disgust when Westcott pissed himself, pushing to his feet and turning to the man’s parents, who had also been freed from the blindfolds and were staring at him with horrified understanding mixed with a frantic, hopeful plea that Tony took great, great pleasure in crushing.

“You, too,” he informed them coldly. “You knew exactly what your son was and not only did you never try to stop him, you fucking enabled him! And don’t snivel that you didn’t know. The Liesmith himself verified your guilt, and so did you. Because if you hadn’t been guilty,” he explained with frightening relish at their desperate faces, “the memory transfer wouldn’t have affected you. We tied the spell to direct guilt, to ensure we didn’t punish an innocent person.”

All three of them broke down in hysterical sobs, which Rhodes and Loki observed with contemptuous satisfaction. Truly, they were pathetic, but their punishment had clearly been effective. Whatever time remained of their lives would be spent in well-deserved misery (and if Rhodes was planning to ask Loki to at least consider doing the same thing for Tony and the Rogues . . . duh. Of course he was. Loki? He would gladly agree). Tony, however, was done with them. He’d said his piece and since he couldn’t kill them, he saw no reason to give them any more of his attention. He had someone much more important to take care of.

In a snub that would have sparked a massive scandal in Regency England, he turned his back on them in a clear ‘cut direct’, extinguishing their faint hope of last-second mercy, and went to the couch where Peter was still peacefully sleeping under the effect of Loki’s dreaming spell, and stroked a tender hand through his hair before giving Ned a tiny smile. The kid returned it and then carefully got to his feet, watching closely as Tony gathered Peter in his arms to take him to his room so he could sleep off the spell and any lingering effects.

He was surprised when Ned didn’t follow him, but a quick glance back showed him why: his son’s best friend was making his slow, purposeful way to the Westcotts. Despite the fury literally radiating from the normally placid young man, Tony was still shocked when he stalked over to Westcott’s parents, looked at them both for a very long minute, and then calmly, deliberately, spit directly into each one’s face. Rhodes and Loki were just as stunned, but no one made the slightest move to stop him when he went to Westcott . . . and when he kicked the bastard in the groin as hard as he could, all any of them could do was gape in disbelief — except Westcott, who screamed. It was highly satisfying.

Then Rhodes grinned with proud approval and clapped Ned on the shoulder; he didn’t speak, but his sentiment was clear and Ned simply nodded in return before he made a beeline for Tony and Peter. Taking his cue from the kid, Tony also said nothing; he just started walking to Peter’s room, with Ned a silent shadow. Tony got his son into bed and tucked in, kissed his forehead, and watched with so many emotions he didn’t have a clue what he was really feeling as Ned climbed on top of the covers and settled himself at Peter’s side, wrapping himself around his best friend and clearly using his body as a shield to keep any harm from coming to Peter while he was there.

Unable to speak, Tony squeezed Ned’s shoulder once, making sure he saw the gratitude and appreciation that would remain unspoken for now, and then he simply let them be. As badly as he wanted to be with his son, Tony understood that Ned was who Peter would need when he woke up — and Ned had more than earned the right. Without him, Peter wouldn’t have survived the first time, and for that alone, Tony would give Ned the world.

For what he had done to help Peter, Ned gave Tony his unconditional loyalty.

(before the year was out, including the bots and AIs, Tony had eight children that his fiancée loved just as deeply. He was the luckiest man on the face of the earth and he knew it)

Peter remembered nothing of the night’s events . . . but he woke almost completely healed from that trauma. Loki’s spell worked exactly as intended, and he never suffered a panic attack or nightmare or even serious anxiety from Skip Westcott again. No one ever told him what had been done on his behalf, and in a rare display of restraint, Peter never asked. It was the first time he allowed himself to trust that someone had only his best interests at heart, and that trust was proven in spades.

And karma?

She smiled, knowing that she’d made the right decision in allowing all the parties involved to see her in action.

After all, karma might be a bitch, but she was a bitch with standards.

And no one hurt Peter Parker and got away with it.

Not even karma.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

It Takes a Village (to Corral an Idiot)

There was very little that could truly surprise Tony Stark these days.

It wasn’t impossible, but his bar was set so ridiculously high that even Loki had given up trying (now he concentrated his efforts on annoying Stark into an ice cream frenzy; he absolutely adored Spidermango, but it was constantly sold out and Stark was one of four people who could keep it on hand. Despite his skill with seiðr, Loki found himself unable to replicate ice cream with any true accuracy. It just didn’t taste right. Which meant irritating Stark into giving him the delicious treat as a bribe to ‘go the fuck away, Reindeer Games, and leave me alone!’ His success rate was higher than he’d initially expected; he was both gleeful and suspicious about this, but the latter wasn’t enough to override the former and so the game continued).

So it honestly caught Tony off-guard when Steve Rogers and his Merry Band of Destructive Sycophants actually, genuinely, utterly surprised him.

Admittedly, he’d expected the eventual outcome, but not the break point. Even he didn’t think they’d collectively be that stupid.

Of course, given the circumstances, he enjoyed the hell out of the aforementioned surprise as he watched the group be frog-marched in, bewildered and disapproving, from his place in the Witness Chair. He could tell just from the look on Rogers’ face that this was going to be good, though he was looking more forward to seeing the expressions and realizations of the Accords Panel and UN members. Way too many of those various panels, committees, and liaisons had refused to believe Tony or even listen to him when he warned about the dangers of allowing the Rogues back into the country with the little supervision they’d been given.

After all, how could he possibly know anything about the group of people he’d housed, fed, clothed, and fought, both against and beside, for lengths of time ranging from several months to multiple years?

Listening to the entire group of them bitch, moan, and blame him for — and he quoted — ‘dragging them into this kangaroo court just because he was being petty that they were better at battle tactics’ quickly became one of the highlights of his week. And the hearing hadn’t officially started yet.

To his left, Tony saw the Spanish representative — one of seven people who’d immediately agreed with him about how bad an idea it was to give the Rogues the amount of power and freedom they’d ended up with — setting up what was clearly a betting book with the liaison from Peru.

In less than a minute, the entirety of South America had joined it, and several European reps were watching with great interest, as was South Africa and Egypt.

Huh.

Well, if nothing else, this was unlikely to be boring.

Especially since Tony didn’t know why he was here. To his knowledge, the most recent (and third) mission they’d done, rescuing downtown Chicago from a swarm (horde?) of Doomboots, had gone off without any major problems, Rogers’ continued — and illegal, thank you — attempts to give Tony orders notwithstanding. Since Tony was officially on the team, and thus, under the command, of one James Rhodes, War Machine, in battle, he had no problem ignoring the dipshit, and he was also keeping track of every incident.

Fine print could be a beautiful thing, when used properly.

(the argument against placing not just Tony but the entire roster under Rogers’ sole leadership had been won by virtue of Tony simply walking out of the meeting and going back to New York when the French rep had insisted on it, at what was very likely someone’s urging (strangely, Tony had yet to determine who was so adamant about that, which was concerning for several reasons). As per usual for his worldview, Rogers had demanded full and total control of the group, utterly ignoring the existence of three teams, which had been created because having that many people under the command of one person, running the types of specialized missions the Defenders did, was foolhardy at best, and every military in the world agreed. It had taken four lawyers and a notarized letter refusing such action, signed by all nineteen members of the Defenders, to stop that particular bit of idiocy in its tracks, though the French had managed to give Rogers leadership of Romanova, Wilson, and Barton; Maximoff had been executed in Wakanda for assaulting one of the Dora Milaje. In a weird coincidence, the Rogues had turned themselves in peaceably a week later.)

Still, it had taken a literal cadre of high-ranking military officers, from every branch and several countries, to explain to the UN Accords Panel that yes, a man flying above the battle would have a much clearer and more accurate gauge as to a) how said battle was proceeding and b) what orders needed to be changed based on the aforementioned gauge of progress, since c) anyone on the ground was going to be at a disadvantage due to their location. This wasn’t a slight or insult to the ground soldiers; it was simple logic.

Which took six long days for the Panel to accept.

The only advantage to that bit of stupidity was the fact that it gave Tony, Rhodes, and the other fliers enough time to marshal their arguments and, ultimately, flat-out refuse to submit themselves to Rogers’ orders. James Rhodes not only had more than twenty years of training and experience than Rogers, he also had an extremely high mission success rate, and the Defenders trusted him implicitly. Rogers had, of course, thrown a tantrum, but the fact was, he was an untrained, inexperienced failure as a strategist (which the Rogues were apparently oblivious to, something that baffled most people). This also contributed and in the end, the Defenders had prevailed.

Not that it stopped the man from continuing to attempt to take total command on joint missions, mind, but the group had no concerns about ignoring his orders, because they were legally protected, and JARVIS was keeping track of that as well. When the Rogues were finally put into prison for violating multiple conditions of their Accords contracts, Tony was going to lead the charge — and he was going to be so prepared, the organizers behind D-Day would be impressed.

Which brought Tony back to his question: why the hell was he here? He and Rhodey had taken care of herding the bots to the northern outskirts of the city to prevent both mass property destruction and casualties; Rogers and his group had done a solid job in taking out the bots that were either low-flying or on the ground; Jess, Luke, and Danny had ensured that there was almost no structural damage; and Peter had liaised between the Defenders and Rogers’ team to set up perimeters and herd civilians out to safety. So that was all fine, and so far as he knew, each team’s post-mission debriefing had gone well.

But this was clearly some sort of disciplinary hearing, and Tony was concerned because all he’d gotten was a summons to appear — and he was the only one, other than the Rogues, which meant whatever was happening was specific to him.

And given the fact that three of the higher-ranked Accords officials, not to mention several of the UN representatives, hated him, he was . . . wary — no. No, he was nervous. He was good at politicking when need be, and he knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. But as was often the case with politics, one did not always have to commit a wrongdoing to be found guilty and punished for something. And for reasons that escaped everyone, the Rogues still had a lot of support — Rogers in particular. So yeah, Tony was nervous and concerned and mentally preparing escape routes if it became necessary.

Then his team slipped in just before the doors were sealed, giving him the signal to indicate they were there for both support and protection, if need be, and he relaxed a smidge. Maybe even a soupçon.

The sound of a gavel striking wood yanked his attention back to the assembled panel and he swallowed, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Wilson looked worried, but he was the only one. The other three looked angry (guess), calculating (guess again), or disapproving and disappointed (no, seriously: guess).

“This hearing is now called to order,” Gregori Dubrinsky announced, his elegant accent giving the words a certain gravitas that made everything suddenly seem a little more real. Still, Tony zoned out as the spiel given before the official start of every UN hearing ever was given, instead choosing to study the Accords reps in an effort to figure out what the hell was going on.

The first thing he really registered was the obvious anticipation several of them were feeling. It was positively sparking in the air around them, which was a touch concerning. On the other hand, none of them fell in the ‘hate Tony Stark’ camp, so . . . since he hadn’t done anything wrong, so far as he knew, maybe this wasn’t about him?

He could hear Romanova making a snide comment about his ego as the thought tapered off and mentally scowled.

He really needed to get that woman out of his head.

“—lain how the program you installed in your weapons works, Dr. Stark?”

Huh?

Oh, they were addressing hi—wait. Wait. Wait a minute.

The program . . . oh. Ohohohohoh.

REALLY?!

Oh, this? This was pure comedy gold. Had those morons finally managed to activate the kill-switch he’d installed — at the Accords Panel’s request, written into the contracts every team member had signed — in each weapon he made for the US-based teams?

Including Rogers’ bunch.

Well. He’d better be polite and answer the man. Wouldn’t want to leave his audience hanging, now would he?

“Of course, Chairman Dubrinsky,” he replied, straightening in his seat and giving what appeared to be his full attention to the head of the Accords Panel. But in reality, half his focus was on the Rogues, because like hell he was missing a second of their reactions (he wouldn’t know until later that his Rhodeybear was recording it for him, and so was Peter. The resulting montage deserved an Oscar for Best Picture). “Per this panel’s request, when the Accords were finalized just prior to ratification, I created an advanced User Interface and installed it in every weapon that I made for the Defenders and anyone else I was strongly encouraged to provide weaponry to.”

His snub of the Rogues was deliberate and he greatly enjoyed watching them fume. From the looks of things, all four of them were puffed up with outrage and it likely wouldn’t take much more for either Rogers or Barton to lose their temper and burst out with accusations, justifications, and (knowing Barton), offensive language. He took a few seconds to debate the pros and cons of pushing things and decided to ease off a bit. Dubrinsky did not appreciate shenanigans in a professional setting and tended to react badly when they happened. While Tony wasn’t against that in theory, he had a golden opportunity to let them screw themselves over without any effort from him, and also without drawing any negative attention to himself.

That had the added plus of meaning that no legitimate blame could be placed on him, though there would doubtless be some weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth (seriously; why France had such admiration of Rogers was still a giant mystery, and he’d had JARVIS, FRIDAY, and himself all looking into the matter, but found nothing. He was beginning to wonder if Henri Andou really was nothing but a fanboy. But he digressed).

“The function of this program is to analyze a battle based on the user’s position and determine patterns,” he began, reciting this information for about the 58^th time. “Those include enemy positions, attack plans, and patterns; optimal firing routes for the user; both potential and probable damage to enemies, allies, and civilians; and the ability to prevent the weapon from working if the program determines that the user’s intended action will cause more damage than was deemed acceptable by this Panel when another, less harmful option is available. There is also a warning alert patched through the user’s comm to let them know they need to pause and adjust their aim.”

Silence reigned for a good minute while Tony fought off a smug smile; all four of the Rogues were absolutely gobsmacked and it was both hilarious and gratifying to see, though he knew full well that as soon as he was allowed to speak, Rogers was going to start mouthing off about ULTRON and Tony’s inability to build a trustworthy AI, because he was too ignorant to even begin to comprehend the difference between UI and AI, and how could the Panel be so reckless, etcetera and so forth.

God, he was getting a headache just from imaging the coming confrontation.

Dubrinsky suddenly cleared his throat, breaking the tense atmosphere, and said, “Thank you, Dr. Stark. If everyone will direct their attention to the screen, we’ll show you one user's data from the last mission Mr. Rogers and his team participated in.”

He gestured and one of his minions turned on a screen that was easily twice the size of a standard cinema version, and Tony bit down another smile. When the Panel had first come up with the idea of a UI for his weapons, Tony had strongly suggested that they do everything possible to make sure the council room’s equipment wasn’t his. That way, nobody could claim that Tony had biased things or hacked them — well, more than they would, anyway. That kind of accusation was part and parcel of being Tony Stark. But there was no reason to give them more ammunition.

That meant, among other things, that everything would be turned on or activated by hand, and any and all data from the UI went directly to a secure server built and maintained solely by the UN, with very select people given access and the codes changing every seven hours. Tony never saw the data or had access to it, and had no way to get it without spending a good chunk of his day hacking the system. He could do it, sure, but there was no reason to. If he or anyone on the three Defenders’ teams messed up or caused that failsafe to activate, then they wanted to know why, so it didn’t happen again. That was the primary point of the Accords: accountability and transparency.

Rogers’ team . . . oh, yeah. This was going to be good. Tony would give a lot for some popcorn right now.

An unnatural silence filled the room as they all watched the battle unfold from the perspective of the weapon being used, with the UI program running numbers to the left of the picture. It was extremely disorienting at times and several people looked ill . . . but when the HUD suddenly flashed red, everyone in the room flinched. Then they watched as the program developed what could be described as a sense of urgency and its analysis increased to eight times faster than real-time. They saw it calculate Rogers’ plan based on prior usage, the direction he turned, and the flex of his shield arm, followed by the conclusion that his intention to ricochet his shield off the building in front of him so he could take out the four enemy ‘bots clustered there would damage more than 70% of the building and likely cause it to collapse, which would result in 88%—100% civilian casualties of those still inside. The initial conclusion hadn’t quite faded when a different route was highlighted. It would only take out three bots instead of four, but the only collateral damage would be an empty car.

Dubrinsky gave the room two minutes to absorb what they’d seen before nodding to the woman manning the sound and video equipment, and she played both the comms chatter and Rogers’ body camera. They both started thirty seconds before the program completed its analysis of Rogers’ intended action, and this time, the UI’s breakdown was played simultaneously with the battle itself.

When the warning alert sounded, the room went dead quiet. Not because the noise was deafening, because it wasn’t; in the middle of a battle, that would just be stupid, which Tony most decidedly was not. It was, however, distinctive and impossible to miss, since it overrode the entire comms system, meaning that Rogers could not hear anything else.

Which meant that he knew perfectly well what had happened, and why.

Then the entire room watched him ignore the alert and prepare to throw his shield at his chosen target. And they heard the UI give an angry beep, followed by Rogers’ stunned curses as he threw his shield, only for it to sail a bare eight inches before crashing to the ground with a loud clank. War Machine was there immediately, repulsors firing, just before everything was shut off.

An outraged Steve Rogers leapt to his feet and pointed a shaking finger at Tony, who leaned back and arched his eyebrows, because this was going to be good.

For him, that is.

“How could you do that, Tony?!” the blond cried, so furious his voice actually went up a notch. “How could you be so petty? You created another murderbot and it would have killed me if I wasn’t Captain America! It almost killed the others! Wasn’t ULTRON enough?”

And there it was. Cue—

“ULTRON, Mr. Rogers?”

That was Alphred Clemmons, from South Africa, and he sounded genuinely confused. His bewilderment confused Rogers and he stopped screaming at Tony in favor of gaping at the man who’d dared interrupt him. His obvious indignation was ignored by Clemmons, who asked, “What does ULTRON have to do with anything?”

Well, Tony hadn’t expected that, though he rather wished the man hadn’t asked. Even though he’d long since been cleared of any involvement in that UI’s creation and subsequent actions, Rogers and Company had never believed it and took any chance they could to throw ULTRON in his face.

The thing was, it wasn’t just because they were looking for Barnes. They genuinely thought that Tony was that incompetent, despite his well-established history of working with, designing, coding, and building computers, computer programs, and UIs and AIs. After Siberia, when he finally got into therapy, that was one of the first things his shrink insisted they tackle. And after a fuckton of internal reflection, Tony had finally been forced to wonder just who they thought actually designed and built their equipment, given their low opinion of him. Pepper, his beautiful, fierce Pepper, had acidly stated that they believed what was convenient to their worldview. So Tony was perfectly capable of designing exploding arrows, Widow Bites, EXO wings, Iron Man suits, and FRIDAY (when they wanted to use her, at least), but somehow, he was also too stupid to build a fifth working UI, which was what ULTRON would have been had he actually been able to finish the program.

Tony hadn’t thought his opinion of them could get any lower, but then, he was often wrong about people.

While his mind was wandering, Rogers had geared up for a rant.

Tony settled in for the show. There was no point in getting excited; nobody would get to speak until the man was done pontificating, and there was no telling how long that would take (really, would it be gauche for him to ask for a bag of popcorn?)

“Tony thinks he means well, but he has an established history of creating dangerous programs he can’t control,” Rogers earnestly told Clemmons, looking so genuine that it caught Tony by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. But he kept forgetting that despite his loud declarations of hating PR and his well-known loathing of being ‘a dancing monkey’, the man had been one of the aforementioned monkeys for several months. And, as a war bond salesman, he’d been trained to sell and had been fairly good at it . . . which meant he knew how to use his facial expressions, voice, and body language to garner sympathy or patriotic fervor or even guilt. He also possessed a terrifying ability to speak with complete belief in himself, utterly convinced of his own righteousness and able to make you believe it, too.

So Tony was expecting Clemmons to go along with him, because as much as he despised Steve Rogers, the man was good at swaying people to his version of ‘truth’.

“How?” Clemmons asked curiously.

Tony’s brain went blue-screen.

So did Rogers’.

“I — I don’t — what?” he spluttered, jaw slack as he stared at the other man, who looked unruffled.

“It’s a simple question,” Clemmons said calmly, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “You stated that Dr. Stark isn’t qualified to design, program, or build a computer program because he ‘has an established history of creating dangerous programs he can’t control’. Those are your exact words, Mr. Rogers. You also cited ULTRON as your precedent. Since you’re so knowledgeable, I am asking you to explain exactly how Dr. Stark created the dark entity who named itself ULTRON.”

Sixty-eight seconds of dead silence followed this pronouncement before Rogers cleared his throat and said, “He was messing around with the scepter and playing with a program he didn’t tell anyone about because he knew it was dangerous, and his carelessness made ULTRON.”

This time, the silence lasted one hundred and forty-five seconds (sometimes Tony really hated his math skills).

“That doesn’t answer my question, Mr. Rogers,” Clemmons finally said, his expression inscrutable. “I asked you how, specifically, Dr. Stark created ULTRON. What was the base programming code?”

Rogers blinked, mouthed wordlessly a few times, then looked at Romanova, clearly seeking help, only for Clemmons to cut off that avenue of escape. “I am asking you, Mr. Rogers. You are the one who declared that Dr. Stark is at fault for creating ULTRON, and thus, not qualified to build the program we just saw, and I am asking you to explain your reasoning. Ms. Romanova is not the one who said it, so she will not be the one to answer. That responsibility is yours.”

Again, Rogers foundered in his confusion, but only for a few seconds before his face set in the mulish expression Tony hated with a passion. “He made a murderbot and programmed it to destroy all of humanity, then tried to backtrack and say it was supposed to be a ‘shield around the world’. It failed because he’s careless and reckless and thinks he knows better than anybody else.”

He sneered the last sentence and turned his glare on Tony, who merely blinked back at him. As surprising as he found it, this wasn’t actually about him, so like hell was he going to interrupt whatever point Clemmons was trying to make.

“So, you cannot explain what happened or why,” Clemmons summed up. That got Rogers’ attention and his head jerked back to the Accords rep, eyes wide with indignation. He had no chance to voice his outrage, though; Clemmons easily headed that off at the pass and Tony hadn’t been this entertained since . . . probably since that Senate hearing where he’d embarrassed not just Hammer, but also Stern. Good times. “Do you know what an algorithm is, Mr. Rogers? How coding works and what it does? Do you know what an AI is?” He stopped again and waited, looking at Rogers with a completely emotionless face but giving him ample opportunity to answer.

When the unbroken silence finally embarrassed even Rogers, Clemmons took a deep breath. “Well, since it’s clear that you have no knowledge or understanding of what you speak, Mr. Rogers, permit me to educate you. When the ULTRON event happened, two separate investigations were launched. Doctor Stark cooperated fully with both of them and provided verbal evidence and testimony, along with video and audio records, several instances of eyewitness testimony, and anything else that was requested. At the conclusion of the direct inquest into him and his actions regarding Ultron, Doctor Stark was found to be completely innocent of any wrongdoing.”

Rogers’ face turned so red so fast, Tony was almost worried his head was about to explode. And that would just be messy. Also, gross.

But before he could actually explode, Clemmons continued his explanation. “Among other things, we have video and eyewitness testimony that you, Mr. Rogers, ordered him and Doctor Banner to study the scepter. Therefore, you hold the responsibility for everything that followed, as the direct order was yours and yours alone. We also witnessed the alien Thor assenting to their inspection of the alien device, along with a total lack of any warnings about possible dangers, or suggestions to protect themselves from any effects they might experience. You were also present during that conversation and did not counter your command to study the scepter, so that responsibility also falls on you. And finally, we have video evidence and multiple people verifying that Doctors Stark and Banner were upstairs at the party, which you and your team were also attending, when ULTRON came online.”

Clemmons paused and watched impassively as Rogers darkened to purple with a rage so intense, he couldn’t form words.

“In other words, Mr. Rogers, not only are Doctors Stark and Banner not responsible for the creation of ULTRON, but the ultimate responsibility falls on you. And because of that investigation and review, we asked Doctor Stark to demonstrate his abilities on a smaller scale so we, the Accords Panel, could be assured that the final product was what we wanted. At his request, Doctor Stark did all the programming and coding with three members of the Panel present, a high-ranking member of several military branches and countries, and another coding expert, selected by the Panel, to verify his progress. This was due not to a lack of trust in him or his abilities, but rather to ensure that no one could later claim that he had biased the program in his favor. He wanted to guarantee that what we asked him to build fulfilled the objectives of the Accords: accountability and transparency.”

The blood drained from the blonde’s face so quickly, he actually collapsed back in his seat, which jolted Tony out of his own shock at hearing himself being so steadfastly defended by a truly impartial third party. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually experienced that, at least not in his presence, and it was . . . nice. Jarring, sure, and shocking, and completely unexpected. But nice.

Vindicating.

“Well said, Representative Clemmons,” Dubrinsky said, breaking the stunned silence and pulling the room’s attention back to him. “And to answer your initial . . . question . . . Mr. Rogers: yes. This is legitimate. We know the UI works because we tested it extensively before giving Doctor Stark the go-ahead to implement it. It has also been used on other missions, not just yours, so no, this is not a witch hunt. This hearing was called because all four members of your team had your weapons deactivated in that battle, Mr. Rogers. And that is a serious problem, because the collated data clearly shows that none of you seem to be cognizant of the damage you can and will cause. You care only about eliminating the enemy. And yes, that is the ultimate objective,” he said sternly, cutting of Barton’s angry protest before he could get more than a word out. “But the other three teams manage to do so without needlessly harming civilians or unnecessarily destroying buildings and roads in the process. The fact that not one, but all of you, lack that awareness is alarming, but you all also deliberately ignored the warning designed to stop you. And that means that this Council must now take the first disciplinary action against you, hence the reason this hearing was called.”

A cacophony of protests broke out from the Rogues and Tony was finally unable to hold back his smile. He knew damn good and well that the fools hadn’t read their Accords contracts, because they never read anything (not even Romanova, which was weird, as she, at least, was intelligent enough to know how stupid that was. Then again, her ego made his look like it wasn’t trying), so this entire thing, from the UI to the disciplinary steps, was coming as a complete shock to them.

Popcorn. He deserved popcorn.

His face impassive, Dubrinsky simply let the group shout themselves out . . . until it reached five minutes and showed no signs of slowing down. A giant sigh came from the Mongolian rep, causing the Council Leader to pause instead of reaching for his gavel, and she got to her feet and walked over to the group of Rogues. Two tables away, she slowed down and grabbed a pitcher of water, which she promptly threw all over them.

Shocked silence filled the room as everyone gawked at her, broken when America’s Julian West burst out laughing. Several others followed suit, but Dubrinsky refused to let the room descend into hysterics and loudly banged his gavel. It worked and the laughter quickly died down, while Sayana Baatar calmly walked to her table, putting the empty pitcher back as she went. That almost set off Juana Sanchez from Peru, but she managed to keep a straight face and Dubrinsky had everyone’s attention soon after. Showing why he was the first elected Chairman of the Accords Panel, he completely ignored the dripping wet team of outraged has-been heroes and kept right on with his original train of thought.

“Per the clause in your Accords contracts, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanova, Clint Barton, and Sam Wilson are all hereby issued their first official strike a—”

“Clause?” Barton cut in, finally unable to control his temper or his tongue. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Once more, stunned silence fell and the eyes of the room fell on the Rogues. Even Dubrinsky was startled, and that was a difficult feat to achieve.

“I . . . it’s part of Section Four, the Training and Discipline portion of your contract,” he said slowly, eyeing Barton like he was a particularly revolting species of cockroach. “By signing, you agreed to submit yourselves to this surveillance in every battle, and you also accepted the stipulated levels of disciplinary action, should it be warranted.”

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Barton snapped back, coming to his feet with an aggression that had Security quickly moving to his position. “Why the hell would I agree to let some machine, especially one made by Stark, tell me what to do in a battle?”

Okay, screw the popcorn. There needed to be a drinking game for the increasing number — and variety — of silences this group kept causing. But Tony also really wanted popcorn; he’d made himself hungry thinking about it so many times.

“You — are you telling this Council that you signed a legally-binding contract without reading it in its entirety?” Alfonso Suarez demanded, sounding almost hysterical, and Barton threw him a quick, contemptuous look but didn’t bother to answer before turning back to Dubrinsky.

And was immediately met with a dark, foreboding look.

“Representative Suarez asked you a question, Mr. Barton. Are you saying that you signed your Accords contract without being fully and completely aware of its contents?”

“No,” Barton sneered, rocking back on his heels. “I’m saying it ain’t in there, because no one would be stupid enough to think that a machine is better than a person in deciding how a battle goes, and even if there were, it wouldn’t be done by Stark. He doesn’t have a clue how to plan battles or be a team player. Why do you think he isn’t with us now?”

The other three members of that team nodded in fervent agreement with his words, which once again silenced the room.

This one was short-lived, broken when Henri Andou from France slowly got to his feet and made his way to the table where Sokovia, Nigeria, and Russia were seated. Confused murmurs followed him, though he didn’t say a word; he simply stopped in front of the rep from Sokovia and let his arms fall to his sides while giving her a single, solemn nod. In response, she picked up the pitcher of water, filled her glass, and calmly threw it in his face. Then she put the glass down, looked him straight in eyes, and said, “I told you so.”

Andou blew out a gusty sigh and nodded. “Yes, you did,” he agreed. “I apologize.”

And with that, he just . . . turned around and went back to his chair.

The astonished eyes of the entire room followed him, though out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Peter clamping a hand over Jessica’s mouth to keep her from laughing out loud. He was a touch envious, as he himself was in need of the same, but even backhanded vindication like that was a balm to his wounded soul. Like the people of Sokovia, Nigeria, and Russia, Tony had argued until he was blue in the face that Rogers needed restrictions until he’d proven he’d learned some much-needed lessons about leadership, command, and accountability, and under no circumstances should he be allowed to remain a team leader until he’d officially earned the Council’s trust and showed he was worthy of the position.

Andou had told every single of them to fuck off (politely, because he was French, but still).

So seeing him acknowledging his mistake and accepting some form of punishment was gratifying, even if Tony privately felt he deserved the same chance, maybe with a repulsor to the groin.

A throat being cleared pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts and Tony looked back to Dubrinksy, absently noting that all four Rogues now had a security guard standing behind them . . . and their weapons were drawn, though not yet aimed and primed. But Tony would bet half his personal fortune that only Romanova was aware it; Barton was too pissed off to be that aware of his surroundings and Rogers and Wilson were both oblivious to anything that wasn’t a) in front of their face and b) what they wanted to see/hear/acknowledge.

Still, at least the room’s occupants had some protection should the group try to escape the consequences of their actions again.

“Can any of you tell me the three conditions for combat eligibility as lined out in your contract?” Dubrinksy asked, unable to keep the disappointment from his face when he gave them two minutes, only to receive not a single word from any of them, though it was obvious the only reason Rogers kept his mouth shut was Romanova’s hand wrapped around his wrist. His expression was quickly replaced by grim resolve, however, and his entire countenance darkened when it became clear he would get no answers.

“Very well,” he intoned, staring all four of them into submission through the undeniable weight of his authority. “Since you have all admitted to not reading your Accords contract before signing it — and thus, indicating agreement with the whole of the contract — I hereby activate the ‘Final Notice’ clause. As of this moment, you are officially restricted to quarters unless you are in specific training in battle tactics, during which you will be supervised by a team chosen by this Council, or a remedial Accords session, wherein you will learn every single line of your contracts. You will not take part in any missions or team training exercises until this Council agrees that you can be trusted to adhere to the tenants that form the basis of the Accords: accountability, transparency, and trustworthiness. Should you fail to meet those standards by the end of a period of one year, your contracts will be voided, which will also void your pardons, and you will be arrested, charged, and tried for the crimes your pardons and contracts have, thus far, held in abeyance.”

He’d barely finished when the group was shouting protests, though Rogers proved his leadership over them when a single hand gesture silenced them.

And then, to the shock of everyone but the people who knew him or had paid an ounce of attention to his antics over the years, he turned to Tony.

“How can you be so petty and childish, Tony?” he chided, looking and sounding exactly like every parent of a toddler at least once in their lives — and shocking the room into silence again. Tony absently wondered if there was a world record for consecutive ‘stunned silences caused’ even as he leaned back and met Rogers’ gaze, unwilling to look away because the dipshit would take that to mean he’d ‘won’ and that was a headache Tony didn’t need. “Did you really have to drag all these people into your game to prove that you’re in charge? I’m sorry I couldn’t let you back on the team, but this is why. You aren’t a team player and you refuse to obey people who are better than you. But acting like you actually know how to lead a team is exactly why I can’t trust you. You’re just too childish and your ego is too big to work with.”

The silence this time was so heavy, it cracked the marble floor, with everyone in the room staring at Rogers in everything from shock to disbelief to contempt to horror.

Tony scoffed, and Rogers almost lost his mind at the clear disdain.

He didn’t bother offering any rebuttal to that steaming pile of bullshit and instead turned to meet Dubrinksy’s eyes. “I’ll lock the Compound down before I leave—” he began, only to be gently interrupted.

“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Stark. They’ll be moved immediately into our restricted barracks in Hungary. That way, you don’t have to bother with them, and we can ensure they won’t run off and destroy a major city or small country just to prove they can,” Dubrinsky told him, easily ignoring the choked sounds of outrage coming from the toddlers’ — sorry, the Rogues’ — table. “I will ask you to lock their weapons and equipment in Training Mode, however, since that’s clearly a precaution we’ll need to take. Also, feel free to place their belongings in storage if you wish, or send them to us. They’ll be away for at least one year, so there is no reason for you to waste your money or space if there are other things you can use it for. Should we need to renegotiate a housing contract with you, we’ll reach out then.”

“Sounds good to me, Sir. Thank you,” Tony replied. Once again, Rogers started to spe—well, yell, something, and once again, Romanova stopped him. She was glaring at Tony because she’d honestly expected him to stop the proceedings at some point prior to the ‘discipline’ part of the proceedings, but she was also smart enough to know that any control he might have had over things was well and truly gone now. Like her and her teammates, Tony was under the direct command of the Accords Panel when it came to superheroing, and he was making no effort to change that. She might be a sociopathic narcissist, but she wasn’t actually stupid, and knew that haranguing Tony now would only hurt her cause. Not when he was willingly submitting himself to the Panel’s authority, confirmed by the final bang of Dubrinsky’s gavel as he dismissed the Council.

Unlike Rogers, who genuinely thought Tony was not just the ringmaster, but also the circus, the monkeys, the clowns, and the magician.

Well, good for him. Thanks to their own idiocy, the Rogues were finally out of Tony’s house, hair, and life, at least for the next year. And he would not be remotely surprised if at least two of them failed out before then (his money was on Barton and Rogers, and he made a mental note to open a betting book with the Defenders; Sokovia’s capital could use the extra funds). In the meantime, he would take the win.

And yes, he took a deeply vindictive pleasure in snubbing the bunch of whiny, backstabbing imbeciles one last time.

He didn’t even glance in the Rogues’ direction as he left the Witness Chair and made his way to his team. Along the way, he exchanged easy nods with his allies and the odd neutral party, while a few shame-filled looks were sent his way from those who either disliked him personally and/or disagreed with his stance on the Rogues. Those he ignored, because if those ignorant assholes couldn’t be adult enough to verbally apologize, and do it to his face, then they could start losing allies and flailing around in future Council sessions.

Taking their cue from him, not a single one of the Defenders gave the Rogues a second of direct attention, something that amused Tony to no end, and he grinned as he reached Rhodes, accepting his clap to the shoulder before he had an excited Spiderling wrapped around him in a tight hug.

And without a single look, word, or gesture, the Defenders of the Earth left the Rogue Avengers behind them . . . broken, confused, lost, and disgraced.

Not that they ever understood that, of course. None of them had enough self-awareness to recognize their own fault and hubris. But for that very reason, from that day forward, Tony and everything that came with him were forever out of their reach.

And just as Rogers had decreed when Tony had tried to warn him about the impending alien invasion, the Rogues stayed together. They blamed everyone but themselves together. And, ultimately, they failed together.

The world moved on, and quickly forgot about them. And when the invasion came, the world came together and won. When it was over, the Rogues saw the Defenders triumph.

But not together. In one last delicious triumph for everyone they had hurt, the cozy togetherness of Steve Rogers’ team was shattered with their final Accords failure and each of them was tried, convicted, and imprisoned separately. For the rest of their lives, the Rogues would be alone.

And they watched Tony Stark and his growing family take first the world, then the universe, by storm.

Because they grew and stayed together.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

R.E.S.P.E.C.T. (Ask and Answer)

Why could people never put anything where it was supposed to go? Or at least put it somewhere that was easy to locate and access?

Tony Stark heaved a frustrated sigh as he rooted through the massive pile of crap on the kitchen table that was currently serving as the Avengers’ junk space, looking for Barton’s StarkPad. Why it had been thrown in the middle of this mess instead of left safely in his room or even on the common room table, Tony had no idea, and he couldn’t figure out why he was the one looking for it instead of its careless owner.

Before he could really do anything with that last thought, a dirty, smelly sneaker the size of his head fell on his hand and he yelped as he snatched it back, glaring at Rogers’ rogue footwear and absently wondering why there was only one shoe in the pile. Then something hard but somehow squishy slammed into the back of his head and he rocked forward, instinctively putting his hands out to brace himself and jarring his sore fingers in the process.

“Son of a bitch!” he snapped, shaking his hand as he pivoted around, shoving the missing shoe aside, and glaring at — of course it was Barton. Find his own shit? Of course not; he had Servant Tony for that. Harass Servant Tony for his own demented amusement? That, he had time for.

Bastard.

“Language, Tony!” Rogers barked, twisting around from his seat on the couch so he could give Tony that ‘you’re such a child’ look that made Tony want to do nothing more than short-sheet his bed and top it off with banana Jell-o. Of course, that would only prove the man’s point, so he had, thus far, refrained. But if the Capsicle persisted in talking to him like he was a first-grader, and a stupid one at that, he was going to gleefully unleash the prankster that had, with Rhodey’s help, set new records of evil in the never-ending prank war between MIT and CalTech. Right now, however, his temper was already short and he just flat wasn’t in the mood to deal with the man’s grating self-righteousness.

“Oh, fuck off,” he shot back, pinning the blonde with a ferocious glare. “Did you catch fire? Did some dread, incurable disease assail you? Was I accidentally right and your parents weren’t married?”

That last question made Barton snort in amusement and he was fairly sure Natasha, who was next to Steve, was hiding a smile as well. Rogers, however, just looked confused, which only irritated Tony more. “Since the obvious answer to all of those questions is ‘no’, why don’t you get off my ass and lecture Barton for throwing a shoe the size and density of a skateboard at my head, instead of bitching at me for responding to being hit by said shoe? For the record, that fucking hurt and I don’t appreciate it,” he added to the archer, who was utterly unrepentant. And Rogers, of course, now just looked disapproving . . . at Tony. Because of course it was fine for Barton to throw heavy shit at Tony’s unsuspecting, unprotected head, but God forbid he involuntarily respond in a way that offended the Star-Spangled Prude.

Yeah, Tony was done. His fingers hurt, his head hurt, and he could feel a migraine creeping up as well.

“Never mind,” he informed the room at large before turning on his heel and stalking to the elevator. “You want your tablet fixed, Barton? Find it yourself and bring it to me in a few days. Or don’t; I don’t care. But I’m not wasting my time looking for your shit just because you can’t be bothered. And I don’t care if you don’t like my language, Rogers!” he snapped, not slowing down or even looking back. “Unless you drop dead from my choice of phrase, suck it up.”

The expressions on the Three Stooges (disapproving, flabbergasted, startled calculation) would entertain him for the rest of the day, though it did nothing to mitigate his growing irritation with some of their attitudes.

Honestly! He was a grown fucking man, and he was just about sick of Steve ‘I’m a prude and so everyone else should be too’ Rogers treating him like a child — especially in his own fucking house.

Whoa.

Okay, he needed to calm down a bit. He didn’t actually curse all that often in the normal course of events, but it got exponentially worse the more upset he was. And right now? He was seriously pissed off. So with a resigned, frustrated sigh, Tony headed to the lab; maybe blowing up that last failed Roomba upgrade would help bleed off the stress.

Two days and four exploded Roombas later, Tony was in the elevator with Rogers, Natasha, and Bruce; he was headed to Marketing to look over a potential issue on their new water purifiers, and the others were headed for the gym. The car was crowded and the atmosphere not entirely congenial when it stopped on Tony’s floor and opened to reveal a short, stocky man. He was holding a folder and looked inordinately relieved to see Tony, who wrinkled his nose, feeling mildly alarmed. Either Edward was waiting for him or had been about to go looking for him, neither of which boded well.

“Doctor Stark,” the other man said in greeting as Tony exited the car, before giving the others a nod as they followed him off — which, what the hell?

You know what, he didn’t care right now. If they wanted to get a boring — and for them, incomprehensible — look at the inner workings of SI’s marketing department, more power to them. He didn’t have time to argue today.

“Hey, Edward. You look entirely too happy to see me, so I’m assuming that’s for me?” he said, pointing at the folder and getting an affirmative nod as they headed for the man’s desk. “Well, let’s see it, then,” he said, getting a second nod before Edward placed the folder on the desk corner and took a step back. From behind him, Tony heard Steve’s disapproving sigh and rolled his eyes. Why the man took his dislike of being handed things so personally, Tony could not fathom, but it was really annoying. Still, he decided to ignore it; he didn’t have the time to explain his idiosyncrasies to Rogers, and even if he did, it wasn’t like Capsicle would believe his reasons for not wanting people to put things directly in his hands, stubborn, opinionated, narrow-minded jackass that he was.

And in a moment of glorious solidarity, showing exactly why SI’s employees were the absolute best of the best, Edward gave Tony one of the most artless looks he’d ever seen and asked, “Have they sentenced the woman who tried to hand you that pen-bomb a few months ago?”

Stunned silence emanated behind him for a good thirty, forty seconds, and then Rogers choked, Bruce gasped and, shocking no one, Romanova gave no audible reaction. A tiny sneer came to Edward’s lips as he observed them, but he controlled himself immediately and arched an eyebrow. Tony let off a soft huff of amusement and replied, “It should be in a couple of weeks, unless her lawyer manages to play the ‘injuries are still healing card’ again. But Helen doesn’t think he will, so we’re just waiting now for word, one way or the other.”

“Good,” the other man replied, eyes angry now. “She’s lucky she just lost two fingers; though I guess it’s good she’s such a bad bomb maker.”

“Mm,” Tony agreed with a nod, heroically ignoring the second round of choked gasps. “Of course, she is one of Hammer’s people, so . . .”

Edward nodded, satisfaction at making his point to the judgmental people behind his boss softening to humor. “Good point, Dr. Stark. Now, about this purifier . . .”

He trailed off as Tony nodded and picked up the report, promptly immersing himself in a problem that shouldn’t exist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edward give all three Avengers a contemptuous look before he turned away and gave his attention to his boss. In the back of his mind, Tony gave the man full credit for effect. He wasn’t sure anyone could have put them in their place quite so effectively, and it was more gratifying than it probably should have been.

Then he finally got to the in-depth description of the problem and everything else vanished from his thoughts.

Wide-eyed and more than a little incredulous, he looked at Edward and demanded, “How accurate is this? Because I am begging you to tell me they’re just trying to see how effective Hammer-level paranoia is at improving performance.”

His employee gave him a rueful look and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. And nobody seems to know — or is willing to admit it — what went wrong, or why it took three weeks to catch.”

“Three weeks?!” Tony spluttered, dropping the report as he gaped at the other man. “Are you fucking kidding me?! This launch is set for eleven days and I’m only just fucking hearing about this?!”

Edward gave a minute flinch at his words, and Tony stopped as guilt flooded him. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to calm himself down before stepping forward so he could meet the man’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, Edward. I know you don’t like that word and I did not mean to say it,” he told his employee, who gave him a kind smile in response.

“It’s okay, Doctor Stark,” he said, but Tony gently cut him off.

“No, it’s not. You asked me not to use that language in front of you and I failed. It was an accident, but that doesn’t make it okay,” he said firmly, refusing to let the other man let him off the hook. “I didn’t realize how often I said it until I started trying not to and I swear it just came out. I’m upset, but that’s not an excuse, and I don’t want you to let me off because I’m your boss,” he continued, nodding when this garnered him a surprised look. “I need you to keep letting me know when I mess up like that, because I might not always be aware or paying enough attention. I won’t be upset, I promise, and I’ll try not to add to the offense when I do realize.”

His last sentence was more self-deprecating than he’d intended and Edward unexpectedly grinned. “No problem. To be honest, I actually said the same thing when I first saw this.”

On hearing that, Tony lost complete control of his expression and gawked, which pulled a delighted laugh from the usually sober, quiet man.

“Oh, yeah. Sarah almost did an exorcism on me, she was so shocked,” he said, chuckling now, and Tony snorted. Sarah Manning was a wonderful woman, frighteningly intelligent and possessed of a wicked sense of humor, but she was also the most superstitious person he’d ever met. Add the superstition to the intelligence and factor the wicked humor in, and the result was a person who could hit ‘manic paranoia’ so quickly, you’d find yourself leading a revolt against England before you’d finished your coffee. “Luckily, someone heard her and knocked an entire case of salt over, so I was able to escape before she broke out the pea soup.”

That made Tony burst out laughing; he could picture the scene perfectly, and it was going to amuse him for the rest of the week. Hell, it might keep him entertained for the rest of the month. Which he was going to need if this fuck-up was as bad as seemed.

The reminder sobered him quickly and Tony looked at Edward, his smile fading as he asked, “I don’t suppose you have one of the malfunctioning ones here?”

Expression regretful, Edward shook his head. “Sorry, no. I wasn’t expecting to run into you so quickly, and the thing is too bulky to lug around the building. Gimme a minute and I’ll grab one.”

With that, the man trotted off, leaving Tony alone with his teammates and a budding headache.

He wondered sometimes if Rogers had some kind of radar for those, because without waiting for Edward to clear the corner, he whined — he actually fucking whined, and dammit, Tony had done it again. Apparently, he had no choice: he was just going to have to completely eliminate ‘fuck’ and all variants of it from his vocabulary. He was thinking it way too often, which was making him say it more.

Oh, hell. Rogers was still whining.

“I can’t believe you, Tony! I’ve been nagging you for months about your language and you just ignore me. Worse, you throw it in my face! But this man didn’t even say anything and you apologized to him!” the blonde lectured, looking unnervingly like the ubiquitous schoolmarm in every Western movie ever. The only thing missing was the hideous dress and matching hat.

Normally, that image would have diffused Tony’s temper, but he was still fuming at just now finding out about a serious problem a month later than he should have and Rogers’ self-righteous haranguing just poured fuel on the fire.

“Well, Capsicle, it’s like this,” he drawled, icy contempt coating each word. “You said it yourself: you nag and pick at me and you do it front of everyone and in my own home. You scold me like I’m a stupid elementary school kid instead of a grown man who can think for myself and make my own choices about what I do and don’t want to say. Edward, however, simply politely asked me if I could try not to use certain words in front of him, because he doesn’t like them. And when I forget or slip up, he politely reminds me. He isn’t condescending or self-righteous or a rampaging prick. He’s courteous and respectful, he doesn’t lecture, and he’s never once asked me to stop using whatever words I want to say. He simply asked me to not say certain things in his hearing, which is a completely reasonable request. Maybe you should think about trying it sometime.”

Tony stopped there, breathing hard, and glared viciously at Rogers, who just looked mulish.

Every ounce of satisfaction at finally saying what he really thought drained away, and Tony forced back a sigh. Why had he bothered? Hadn’t he learned by now that Steve Rogers didn’t register anything that contradicted his vision of how the world should be?

On the other hand, he’d said it out loud and in front of witnesses, so the next time Rogers mouthed off, Tony would — well, he should — have some backup. And if he didn’t, he would at least have evidence showing in hi-def detail the exact issue he had with Rogers’ approach to the situation.

But right now, he just didn’t have time for this idiocy, and he sure as hell didn’t have the patience or inclination. So with a brusque, “I have work to do. See you later,” he turned and headed the direction Edward had gone, knowing they wouldn’t follow. Not here. None of the team was comfortable being around the various departments that comprised this division of SI (something Tony didn’t let himself think too closely about), which meant that he would have some peace from the Avengers, even if he now had to work a miracle and fix a massive mechanical failure that shouldn’t have happened.

As soon as he was out of the team’s immediate vicinity, tension began to bleed from his body and he remembered again Edward’s description of Sarah’s zealous attempt to ‘fix’ him after his unexpected and highly unusual choice of language and began to chuckle. By the time Edward found him, Tony was almost in a good mood.

And if he refused to let himself think about why being around his team was more stressful than fixing things that shouldn’t be broken with a tight deadline looming, well . . . he’d never been as good with people as he was with machines.

He really should have remembered that.

~~~

As MJ was finishing up her practice presentation for her Social Sciences class, Peter Parker sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

He really liked MJ: her intelligence, her dark sense of humor, her ability to take asshats like Flash down a peg or three, her fierce devotion to causes close to her heart. He absolutely adored those things about her . . . but more and more, her rants denouncing capitalism were starting to bother him. And he positively hated her characterization and opinions on Tony Stark.

But how to tell her that? He didn’t want to offend her, but he didn’t like or agree with several of her ideals and — as Hope and Pepper and May and Ned and Jessica and Rhodes and Wade and Tony and, well, pretty much everyone he knew, had been telling him for months — his thoughts and opinions deserved equal weight and consideration. Just because she thought differently didn’t make him wrong, and he didn’t even really want to make her change her mind. He just wanted her to stop putting down and criticizing the industry, the company, and the man that were going to be a huge part of his life and future.

“What’s up, Loser?”

He cringed at her greeting and suddenly realized that yeah, that annoyed him too. It might be said in jest, but he’d heard that moniker from too many people who meant it for too many years to ever be okay with it, no matter how it was intended. Then again, it was how she showed affection and approval, so . . . but he still didn’t like it.

Not for the first time, his mouth took off before his brain could make a decision.

“Can you please not call me that?” he asked abruptly, watching closely as she blinked several times, clearly caught off-guard.

“I — what?” she finally asked, taking a step back, her eyes filling with confusion.

“Please stop calling me ‘loser’,” he said again, a little more gently. “I know it’s a nickname from you, but I just . . . I really don’t like it and I don’t want you to call me that.”

Eight months of — and he quoted ‘learning when to stop talking and drop the mic is an essential business skill, Peter’ — training, mostly from Pepper, in how to take control of a conversation had worked wonders for his ability to shut up. It wasn’t consistent yet, and to be honest, it probably never would be (a trait he and Tony shared), but he was getting better. And as he watched MJ flounder from being told ‘no’ by someone she professed to like and respect, he had to admire the effect.

It was a rare person indeed who could render Michelle Jones mute.

Fifty points to Peter!

“Umm . . .” she began, only to stop, shake her head, and meet his eyes. “Okay.” This was said steadily, calmly, without a hint of sarcasm or disdain. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know it bothered you.”

He nodded in return and said only, “Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, but I didn’t realize how much it bothered me until today.”

That got the rest of her attention and she frowned, sitting down and putting her bag on the floor at her feet before meeting his eyes again, hers dark and serious.

“Why today?” she inquired, her voice even, and Peter sighed. Well, he’d wanted to talk to her about it, hadn’t he? He just . . . would rather have had some prep time first, come up with a speech.

Yeah, that you wouldn’t use, Ned’s voice echoed in his head. You’d fumble and stutter the way you did the first time you met Dr. Banner. Which, hey, totally not judging you for, ‘cause I wasn’t any better. But if you’re gonna meander all over the place, you might as well do it straight from the heart.

Dammit. He hated it when his brain took his best friend’s side instead of his own.

Worse? His non-present best friend was right.

So: where to start?

Well, duh. Her presentation had been what kicked off his moment of crisis, as MJ liked to call them, so that was probably the best way to go.

“I . . . you . . . oh, hell, I hate doing this,” he muttered to himself, floundering right out of the gate and not even remotely surprised. But as Tony had repeatedly told him, sometimes authenticity was the best, the only, way to go. Peter hadn’t understood at first, because he couldn't grasp how on earth not telling the truth could ever turn out well in the long run (see: Spiderman), but after sitting in on board meetings, department head meetings, and ground floor meetings, he’d started to understand.

And MJ was a ground floor employee, so to speak. So he was going to be best served by just speaking his mind. The fact that he wasn’t particularly comfortable with that and was therefore going to ramble and stutter was something they were both going to have to deal with.

Well, at least she appreciated up-front, plain speech. He knew from experience that teachers who used euphemisms and double-speak for everything drove her up the wall. So while he was definitely going to ramble, he would at least do it straightforwardly.

“You . . . MJ, I admire you so much for your passion and commitment to the causes you hold dear,” he started slowly, holding her gaze as he sank into the chair across from her. “But I — I don’t like the fact that you focus so much on Tony and SI. No, let me finish,” he said quickly as she opened her mouth to object. Startled again by his unexpectedly sharp tone, she slowly leaned back and said nothing, wordlessly challenging him to continue.

But he was defending his mentor, his dad, now, as well as the company he was going to co-inherit with Harley Keener, and there was very little that was closer to his heart.

His own passion throbbed in his voice as he continued. “I know exactly what the media and his rivals, competitors, and people who just don’t like him say. And I know what he says about himself sometimes, when things get to be too much and all he can see is the bad. But Tony Stark is so much more than that, MJ. And the way you hammer him for being a weapons manufacturer is not okay. No, I’m not done!” he said forcefully when she started to object again, holding up a warning hand this time. Clearly shocked now, she blinked several times before slowly nodding, and he blew out a harsh breath.

“I’m sorry, I just . . . you need to let me say this,” he explained. “Let me get it all out or it will never make sense. And — MJ, I’m not trying to change your mind. I’m really not,” he insisted at her justifiable skeptic look. “But you don’t have all the facts or the background, and so because of that, you have some really wrong, really bad, impressions of Tony and SI. And after I’m done, if you still feel that way, at least it’ll be a fully-informed opinion instead of one based off the surface crap that gets all the attention.”

Behind the skepticism, curiosity and a bit of respect flickered in her eyes and a wave of relief flooded Peter; that could have gone very, very badly.

But he needed to say this and she seemed open to listening to him, and he swallowed, looking for the right words.

What did she complain about the most?

“Tony is not a weapons monger, and he isn’t a war profiteer,” he began, holding her eyes and watching, pride mingling with vague disbelief, as she visibly fought down her instant objection. Emboldened by this, he kept going. “He isn’t,” he repeated. “He inherited his father’s company, which was a weapons manufacturer that Howard started after the end of WWII. And MJ, making weapons legally and selling them for profit to companies and people and entities that have contracted to buy them isn’t illegal. And it isn’t immoral,” he added forcefully, remembering all the times she’d complained about that aspect of SI. “For one, war and battle have been around a hell of a lot longer than SI, and for two, they weren’t and aren’t the only weapons company in the US. But I don’t see you protesting at HammerTech, or ripping apart the morals and ethics of Glock or Smith & Wesson or Colt or anyone else. They’re just a few of the companies who currently make and sell weapons legally, but for some reason, the only one you focus on is SI. That’s hypocritical, MJ. I also don’t appreciate you constantly accusing Tony of not caring about all the people he supposedly hurt and killed by way of his weapons.”

He paused for a few seconds, breathing hard, and watched as she once again had to physically bite down what was probably a very vitriolic response. But she was doing as he asked and letting him talk, and something about that was doing nice things for his confidence. “First of all, you have no idea how much those deaths bother him. It’s why he shut down weapons to begin with. But you keep saying that he should have known, and that’s bullshit, MJ. It is. Everybody conveniently forgets that his godfather, the man who had been in his life from his actual birth and acted as an advisor, even another parent at times, was the one who doing the dirty deals, the double dealing. Not Tony. And why, realistically, would he have had any reason to suspect the man? That’s like saying Liz should have known her dad was the Vulture.”

Outrage filled her face at that, but Peter watched with trepidation and more than a little awe as she stuffed her hand in her mouth to keep from snapping back at him for that, instead forcing herself to actually listen to what he’d said. And then he saw her absorb the point, followed by reluctant agreement. He was right and she knew it and was pissed off because he’d just proven a longstanding assumption wrong, but MJ was nothing if not pragmatic. She might not like it, but she wasn’t one for denying the truth when it was in front of her face.

If only their teachers were so mature and open-minded.

And if only Tony could let himself see and accept that he wasn’t responsible for everything bad. Peter was trying to get him to see that, as was Harley, but it was a long, difficult process. Still, as stubborn as Tony was, his sons were even moreso and they were determined to prevail.

But that was private, a secret kept between father and sons.

“So please, stop harping about how evil Tony is for making a profit on legally selling weapons the government asked him to make,” he . . . well, pleaded with her. “I know you hate fighting and think armies are the reason we have wars and I’m not arguing that. But governments aren’t going to stop keeping and building active militaries, including ours, so leaving them defenseless would be stupid. And Tony still does a huge amount for the military; he makes body armor and protection and armor for their vehicles and the stuff he’s designed for extraction of injured people is just amazing. The extraction tracker and drone are so effective, he’s also converting it for civilian use and is working directly with first-responders and disaster relief to make it more practical for them,” he informed her, greatly enjoying the surprise that came to her face. “In fact, FLIP is the reason there were so many survivors discovered after the tsunami hit Thailand last year. But the only reason he’s been able to make such effective defensive equipment is because he intimately understands weapons, and also because he had such good relations with the military to start with.”

“I . . . FLIP?” she asked, her voice a little unsteady, and he gave her a quick grin.

“Finding Live Injured People,” he replied, grin widening when she just blinked a few times for nodding to herself and motioning him to continue.

“So like I said, Tony still does a huge amount for our armed forces without giving them weapons, but even if he was still supplying them, it’s not a crime. It’s not a crime to make weapons or sell them and even when he was the premier manufacturer in the country, Tony never did anything wrong. You can’t even really hang ‘irresponsible’ on him, because Stane had spent most of his life earning his trust while also gaslighting him and making him the media’s black sheep so that IF anyone looked closer, they’d make the same assumption you did: that Tony was just being irresponsible and careless,” he . . . well, lectured. He didn’t want to, because MJ was hardly alone in that. But he’d gone back over a lot of footage of the Rogues and seen Romanova do it on a near-daily basis, though Rogers and Wilson were just as bad, because they were so ready to see the worst in Tony that if she told them he tortured puppies for a hobby, they’d believe it.

And frankly, that pissed him off. A lot. So when his voice suddenly went hard and sharp, he wasn’t surprised and he made no effort to pull himself back. He was unhappy, dammit, and he had the right to be.

“And that’s deliberate, MJ; Stane spent decades making sure the media would only focus on Tony’s so-called worst traits, so that even the good stuff he did was either ignored or played off as a PR stunt to hide some scandal. It was a very carefully manipulated smear campaign and even now, today, more than a decade after he died and Tony stepped into a more active role as CEO, and that's on top of becoming Iron Man, it still works. People still automatically believe the worst of him the second the media says anything bad about him or there’s negative press. And yeah, you give him grudging credit for ‘doing the right thing’ and switching SI over to clean energy and technology, but it shouldn’t be ‘grudging’. Again, he has not committed any crimes or broken any laws by building and selling weapons. And I completely accept and agree that you don’t have to like the fact, that is definitely your prerogative, but you don’t have the right to judge him for it, either. Or penalize him, especially when people and companies who are doing the exact same get a pass. Why is it okay for Justin Hammer to sell weapons — badly made ones at that — to our armed forces, but Tony is a jerk and a bad person?”

To Peter’s own surprise, his breathing remained even as he gave her a long, steady look, finally inviting her to speak. To his following eternal shock, she tried and failed, clearly unable to find an answer that wasn’t ‘because he’s Tony Stark’.

And that saddened him, because he really had hoped he was wrong about that, that she had some hidden reason for hating Tony other than ‘because he’s the media’s favorite whipping boy’.

When the silence hit the two minute mark, he swallowed again and then nodded decisively. Time to move on.

“Like I said, I completely understand why you hate weapons and war and all that,” he told her as gently as he could. He honestly didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he just could not keep listening to her harsh, untrue putdowns of Tony. He just couldn’t. It wasn’t right or fair, and yeah, life wasn’t fair, but that was no reason to make it worse. “But you have to be fair about it. If you’re going to hold Tony responsible for the harm his weapons caused, then you have to do the same for everyone else who makes and sells them. You have to say and do to them the same things you say and do to SI — or you have to stop completely. The same actions and the same intent means equal treatment . . . and if you’re gonna keep campaigning for equality, which I am totally and completely supporting you in, then you have to extend that equality to everyone. It isn’t right to harass Tony because he’s brilliant and good at what he does and ignore Justin Hammer because he can’t consistently produce a solid, well-made hammer. Quality doesn’t matter when you’re judging on actions. Or intentions. Especially since badly-made weapons cause twelve time more damage to their users.”

She sniffled and looked down as he finished speaking and his heart clenched, but he somehow managed to bite down the instinctive apology. He hadn’t said anything wrong, or even mean, though he could definitely understand if she felt attacked right now. And because of that, and because he felt satisfied he’d said everything he wanted to about the weapons thing, he gladly gave her a few minutes to take everything in and compose herself.

It took less time than he’d expected for her to catch his eyes, her own filled with several emotions he couldn’t readily identify. He didn’t see anger, though, and a lot of tension abruptly left his back, almost causing him to faceplant on the table. The resultant catch and balance probably looked absurd, if her muffled giggle was any indication, but that was okay. The atmosphere was less strained now, which was good. That would make it easier for him to broach the next topic. And, as if reading his mind, she gave him a tiny smile and said, “Well, go on. You’re on a roll, Lo—Parker.”

The simple fact that she’d remembered his request in the middle of what looked like a lot of mental upheaval made tears spring to Peter’s eyes and now he had to look away. In the darkest corner of his thoughts, where he didn’t let himself look too deeply, he had wondered about the true depths of her respect for him. She kept her emotions so tightly under control that it really was impossible to tell her genuine thoughts and he was too insecure to ask (and if he had, he wouldn’t have believed her. His lack of self-esteem was something all of the adults in his life hated with a passion and were working hard on, but it was a slow, difficult process).

“Okay,” he managed after a minute. His voice wasn’t quite steady, but a deep breath helped settle his nerves and he was able to meet and hold her gaze again.

“I also know that you . . . you have a big issue with the amount of money that Tony has, and I don’t — I don’t . . .” he began, only to trail off as he failed to articulate what he wanted to say. To his shock, MJ said nothing as he mentally flailed for a minute, trying to find the right words. It took him a bit, and he wasn’t really happy with it, but he’d done okay so far with winging it, so why not?

He had no clue that the more he talked, the more confidently he spoke and the more cohesive and polished his arguments became.

This was a good thing, as that knowledge would have shocked him right back into rambling incoherence.

“It’s like this,” he started again, looking out the window this time as he tried to corral his thoughts and make sure they stayed both on track and articulate. “Yeah, Tony has a lot of money. A lot. But that isn’t a crime, or illegal, and it doesn’t make him a bad person. I mean, nobody works for free. He — you can’t even begin to imagine how much both he and SI give to charities and foundations, and Tony makes a lot of straight-up personal donations too. But he can’t give it all away, MJ, and he doesn’t — I cannot tell you how hard he works for SI, how much he does for them, and that’s without taking into account the fact that he is the literal face of the company, which means he’s the one who gets all the blame if something goes wrong. And then there’s — I mean, Tony is directly responsible for something like 80% of all the new inventions they’re successfully making and putting on the market. So he earns the money, and I’m not — I’m not — look, I don’t like that he’s always trying to buy me Armani because I don’t need it, but I will never hold it against him, because that’s what people do: they go to work to make money so they can live life. And most people want to have nice things as well. Tony just makes more of it — and so does Pepper Potts. She doesn’t work for free,” he said, very deliberately, looking her straight in the eyes as he made that particular point, and was gratified when she scowled.

Pepper Potts was one of MJ’s personal heroes (and rightly so; Peter adored her and so did Harley, and Harley adored nobody), but again: he was tired of listening to her praise Pepper for the very things she denigrated Tony for doing. And also for the hypocrisy: she had an iPad and, by her own admission, she had a moderately-big addiction to Amazon.

Which he pointed out.

“You order something from Amazon once a week. You also have a lot of Apple products and Jobs was a multi-millionaire before he died, and so is Tim Cook, and I have never heard you say a word about their fortunes, or Jeff Bezos,” he said, refusing to let her look away. “So if you’re going to condemn Tony for making and keeping that much money, you have to do it to everyone. Everyone, MJ. That means Hollywood and pro athletes and every business owner and hedge fund manager and whoever else has millions of dollars to their name, regardless of how they got it. And no, I know you don’t care about actors or sports, and that’s fine; I don’t either. But just because you don’t care doesn’t mean they don’t have the money. But it’s just like the weapons thing: it isn’t right to pick on one person and ignore the dozens of others who meet the same criteria. Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong,” he added, seeing the frustration building on her face. “But I can’t stand the hypocrisy anymore. Yeah, you talk a lot about wealth inequality, which is fair, but the only person I’ve ever heard you consistently mention is Tony, and that’s not right, MJ. It’s not.”

This silence was fraught and Peter hated it, but he also held firm against it. Even if MJ didn’t change her mind, he needed her to stop making so many snide, untrue comments about Tony, about his dad, in front of him. Neither Tony nor Peter deserved that, even if she didn’t know Tony had adopted him.

Because that shouldn’t matter. You couldn’t demand equality if you weren’t willing to hold everyone accountable to the same standards.

Given the look on her face, a combination of anger, frustration, reluctant agreement, and a few others he couldn’t immediately identify, Peter was pretty sure he was getting through to her. And as he’d said, he didn’t necessarily disagree with some of her points. But his points were also valid and she needed to at least see that, even if she didn’t ultimately agree — which was also okay. Difference of opinion and respectful debate made the world go 'round, as May liked to say. And yeah, he was a lot surprised that she had stayed quiet and let him talk as much as he had, and he was beyond grateful for it, and decided not to waste the opportunity presented by her continued silence. He had one more thing to say, to get off his chest, and he was a little terrified to say it, but he had to.

He had to.

“I know that Pepper is one of your heroes, an icon to you,” he said carefully, nodding at the wary and slightly-puzzled look he got in response. “And she should be; Pepper Potts is freaking amazing and I absolutely adore her. But this . . . this veneration you have for her is not cool. It’s not. And the reason,” he continued more forcefully, once again refusing to let her instinctive objection stop him, “is because you keep saying that Pepper is the best thing to happen to Stark Industries. But MJ . . . she can’t be. Because it was Howard who started the company and provided the foundation and built the initial reputation. It was Tony who grew the company from a US-based, million dollar business to an international, billion dollar powerhouse. Tony did that — and when he did it, Pepper was still his PA. He hadn’t even begun that transition of power. Now, has she done great things as CEO? Hell, yeah,” he said fervently, nodding at MJ’s vindicated expression.

“She is amazing, and she is terrifyingly good at it. But — but. The truth is that without the foundation Howard and Tony gave her, none of that could have happened,” he said as gently as he could, mentally deflating a bit when another scowl darkened her features. But he kept going; in for a penny, in for a pound (another of May’s sayings and wow, his aunt had a lot of sayings). “And she herself has said several times that without the training and experience she got from Tony, she would have failed — and she still needs his help and support today because she’s good at the business and political side, yes . . . but so is he, and he’s the product expert as well. You — well, most people really—” he corrected himself, wanting to be as fair and truthful as he could — “forget or ignore, I don’t know which, that Tony was CEO for twenty years and . . . well, I said it: he turned SI into a global empire in just over a decade. And it’s just . . . I can’t handle listening to you brag about how amazing Pepper is for doing the same things Tony did, and still does, sometimes,” he confessed, looking at the table for a few seconds before meeting MJ’s dark, unreadable eyes again. The lack of visible emotion was unnerving, but Peter took a few deep breaths and pushed through it. He wasn’t quite done and wow, he’d honestly had no idea how deeply he felt about some of this.

In the back of his mind, he could hear Ned’s hysterical laughter and mentally flipped off his still-not-present best friend before returning his attention to the girl he really hoped would still be his friend when he finally ran out of steam.

“You — I — she isn’t automatically better just because she’s a woman, MJ, and that’s how it comes across when you talk about her and Tony and SI, even though I don’t think you mean to,” he told her, squirming a bit when her eyes narrowed. Yeah, he probably could have worded that better. But he couldn’t unsay it and he knew from experience that if he tried to correct himself, he’d just make it worse. Better to barrel forward. “The thing is, you — you condemn Tony for being a billionaire and 'being the face of patriarchy', but I have never once heard you say so much as a syllable about Pepper. Do you really think she would put up with Tony treating her as less because she's a woman — which, by the way, he absolutely does not? Do you honestly believe that?" he demanded, hearing how loud he suddenly was and realizing that his emotions were starting to get the better of him.

So he stopped and just breathed, letting MJ process things while he calmed down a bit. It didn't take long and with another bracing breath, he found his train of thought again.

"So there's that," he began, watching as MJ frowned at the table before looking back up at him. "But Pepper . . . she sure as hell isn’t working for free. And why should she?” he asked rhetorically, wincing a little as he remembered the last time he’d shadowed her on one of her quieter days. Her workload was unbelievable. And terrifying; he sure as hell understood why Tony had moved from CEO to CTO. “I’ve seen some of what her job entails and she works her ass off; I honestly don’t know how she does it sometimes, I really don’t. But she earns every penny she makes, and it’s not right for you to be okay with that and then sneer at Tony for ‘hoarding wealth’. That’s a huge double-standard, and — MJ, you’re better than that,” he told her, sounding earnest even to his own ears . . . but he meant it.

Because MJ’s heart was huge and it was absolutely in the right place. She just had the bad habit of seeing the surface level of something, or maybe a couple of layers below that, and assuming she had all the pertinent facts without trying to look deeper. Now, was Peter biased because she seemed to have a particular grudge against SI and Tony Stark? Absolutely.

But that didn’t make him wrong.

Didn’t make MJ wrong, either.

They just needed to work more on communicating, and on research. New facts and updated information were always available and they could and should use them to debate and exchange ideas and grow. As long as she remained fair, or at least neutral, to Tony, Peter was more than willing to do that (hey, he’d never claimed to be a saint. Tony was his hero and Peter would do whatever it took to protect him). He knew perfectly well that the man wasn’t perfect, but then, he’d never claimed to be. Tony actually took on guilt and responsibility that weren’t his, and he did not need other people adding to that.

So yeah, Peter was happy to debate and research and learn about any topic MJ wanted to pursue, but he was determined that going forward, it had to be balanced. For him, for the world MJ was absolutely going to change . . . and for her. Because she was amazing and was going to be amazing in the future and she had the potential to reshape the world, something Peter desperately wanted to see.

But she needed to understand the world she wanted to change.

“You’re so amazing, MJ,” he whispered, leaning forward and taking her hands as his gaze bored into hers. “You’re brilliant and compassionate and . . . and . . . God, you’re just amazing,” he repeated, smiling softly when tears filled her eyes. “And I’m not — I don’t want to hurt you, ever, but I . . . I just . . . there’s so much that you don’t know, that you have no way of knowing, and I had to tell you, because your heart is absolutely in the right place and knowledge is power, right? I just . . . I only wanted you to understand,” he finished quietly, sighing deeply as he looked away, tears coming to his own eyes as the magnitude of what he’d just done really hit him.

He didn’t, and couldn’t, regret shattering so many of her preconceived notions about Tony and SI and Pepper . . . and probably about him, too. No doubt she had picked up on a lot of things he hadn’t intended to reveal, and that was okay. She had always been scarily observant and given how many surprises he’d undoubtedly laid on her, she would have been paying even closer attention. Of course, that meant he’d probably just destroyed any chance they might have had at a romantic relationship, at least for the time being, and that sucked, because he really liked her.

But he was pretty sure they’d still be friends, once she’d had some time to think about and absorb everything he’d said. He also had no doubt that he was in for a lot of detailed grilling and questions once she’d processed everything.

Which, truthfully, he was not looking forward to. MJ was a pitbull when she decided to dig deeper into something, and Peter . . . well, he was notoriously bad at keeping secrets. So the coming interrogation was not going to be fun.

But for now, he’d said enough. It was time for him to leave her to her thoughts, and he needed some time to himself as well.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out, okay?” he murmured, brushing a hand over her shoulder as he stood up. Her gaze followed him, and once again, he couldn’t read the emotions swirling through those dark eyes . . . but then she lunged to her feet and wrapped both arms around him. He was so stunned that he couldn’t move and stood there like an idiot as she buried her face in his shoulder and squeezed so tightly, his back popped.

She pulled away before he could get his brain and his body to cooperate and hug her back, her eyes searching his for . . . he couldn’t begin to guess, but it was extremely unnerving, especially since she had yet to say a word. But he marshaled his patience and allowed her to look, somehow managing not to squirm beneath that steady, probing gaze. After a couple of minutes, her lips curved in a tiny smile.

“I should probably be pissed at you,” she informed him, bending down to grab her bag and giving him a short reprieve from the intensity of her eyes. “Surprisingly, you’ve made some good points, and given me some things to think about and look into. So thanks for that. But be warned, L—Peter—” and wasn’t one of the more frightening things he’d heard this month — “now that I know you can build and present in-depth logical arguments, you’re going to start doing that for Lit. No more slacking off,” she threatened, satisfaction flashing across her face when Peter involuntarily blanched. “You’re too smart for that and I’m not letting you let the teacher win just because you hate the class. Now I know you can do it, so you are going to start doing it. And I will do the same,” she said firmly, ignoring his squawk of protest. “You said you want me to be better, right?”

And dammit, he couldn’t argue that.

Why, why, did he have to like intelligent people? WHY?!

“Yes,” he muttered sullenly, refusing to feel bad when she only rolled her eyes. He’d rather get stabbed than be forced to diagram another Shakespeare play, especially for Mrs. Hanson. Not only did the woman think Shakespeare was the only playwright in existence, but she seemed completely unaware of anything but the tragedies.

“Okay,” was her reply. “Well, that’s what I want for you. If you’re going to take over Stark Industries one day, you need to be well-rounded in everything, not just science and engineering. Didn’t Pepper minor in English Lit in college?” she added sweetly, and Peter mentally cursed, because MJ was absolutely right. Her answering grin was smug, because she’d won and they both knew it.

“Fine,” Peter conceded with a complete lack of grace that, again, she ignored. Instead, she leaned forward, kissed his cheek, and headed for the door without another word.

Alone in the library, Peter could only stare in disbelief, not quite sure what had just happened.

Other than his life suddenly becoming both more terrifying and a hell of a lot more intriguing, that is.

He suddenly had a much deeper appreciation for Pepper’s devotion to Tony, and smiled.

Maybe, if he was smart, that would also be part of his future.

And right now, that was more than enough for him.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Schadenfreude

It is a common cliché to observe that ‘it’s a small world’. A popular trope explains that ‘coincidence is simply the art of planning ahead’. Naturally, we can’t ignore the truism that ‘what goes around, comes around’.

Of course, none of these are consistently true, and they rarely happen, despite the insistence of those clichés, tropes, and truisms.

But every so often, life is good and they all come together in a glorious explosion known as ‘karma’, and the resultant party always sets new records for various and sundry shenanigans (oddly, table dancing has yet to be one of them).

~~~

It had taken three weeks and four days.

“Tony! Tony, don’t do this! We just want to talk!” Steve Rogers shouted as he failed to free his wrists from the handcuffs Tony had made specifically to contain him and gifted a pair of to every police precinct in New York City. Behind him, Sam Wilson miraculously kept his mouth shut and instead glared impotently at Tony, tugging just as futilely at his restraints. For his part, Tony gave a mournful sigh at the loss of his mixed seafood burrito, which he’d intended to give to Peter that night as his introduction into the wonders of high-end seafood. Thanks to Rogers, it was now an expensive smear across the sidewalk.

Bastard.

His method of attack had been unusual, though: Tony’s new bodyguards were very good at their jobs, so there was no way someone that bad at planning, never mind execution, could have just lunged up and gotten that close to Tony, super strength or not. Tony’s people were exceptionally well-trained, disciplined, and experienced, unlike Rogers.

And watching his squad of personal guards take the dumb blonde down had been hilarious. Also, highly satisfying and extremely educational. Yeah, the man was absurdly strong, but he didn't have that damn shield and without it, he was really useless in a fight. He had little, if any, actual training and even less discipline. So while his strength meant it had taken three of Tony's people to fully subdue him, it took them less than two minutes and not one of them was hurt, and neither were any of the many people surrounding them. Wilson had almost been an afterthought, which Tony found highly apropos.

It was hard to tell who was more offended by the relative ease required to get the pair down on the ground and cuffed, but Tony thought Wilson might have the edge there; his Captain America blinders were welded so tightly to his eyes, it was a wonder the man could get dressed in the morning.

Still, Rogers' complete lack of any kind of deep tactical planning skills beyond the basics one learned on Day Three of boot camp meant that the only real way he could have gotten that close was that Wilson had carried him in via the Falcon wings and dropped him into place when they’d seen Tony start to leave the restaurant.

It was a clever idea, and Tony gave credit where credit was due. Both men were disrespectful jerks, but Wilson had just shown that he did, in fact, have a brain somewhere in his head. It was too bad that he kept it shoved up Rogers’ ass instead of using it to think for himself.

Despite the yowling and whining that was going on behind him, Tony had managed to avoid making even a hint of eye contact with either man. Doing so would only have encouraged Rogers to keep trying and despite his glee at having his predictions proved correct, Tony didn’t actually want anything to do with this.

So in a move calculated to enrage the Spoiled Brat and his mindless Yes Man, partly for his own entertainment but mostly in hopes of making one or both of them do something stupid — or, rather, do another stupid thing — which would, in turn, increase the severity of the charges, Tony finished his conversation with the cop and left. Of course, his clean, ‘fuck you’ exit was almost wrecked by the appalled maître d’ trying to hand him a replacement for his ruined food, but Tony appreciated the gesture and gave his escort the go-ahead to take it. And then he resumed walking away. To Wilson and Rogers’ fury, not once did Tony bother to acknowledge their presence. He never turned his head, not even for a glance, because they were not worth his time or attention.

Still, he couldn’t stop the grin that came to his lips when one of his guards informed a still-ranting Rogers and a still-silent Wilson, in a voice that had to have been stolen from the Biology teacher in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, “This is your first strike. If you ignore the warning and approach Doctor Stark again, breaching your proscribed legal distance of 100 yards, we will shoot out your kneecap. Should you persist, we will put a bullet in your groin, too.”

(he didn’t see the raw hatred blazing in her eyes, which wasn’t reflected in her voice, hatred that confused the hell out of Wilson and was utterly wasted on Rogers. But even if they had realized the reasons why, it would have made no difference in the end)

Stunned at being told ‘no’, Rogers’ rant trailed off into disbelieving silence, which had Tony snorting softly with laughter as he rounded the building and headed for his car. Just before he opened the door, he heard the arresting officer start reading Rogers and Wilson their rights and this time, he couldn’t restrain his laugh when the predicted indignant spluttering started.

It was a shame he hadn’t been able to watch their expressions live, but his utter indifference was much more effective in making them understand their place — both in the world at large and Tony’s life in particular. He had no illusions the lesson would take, of course, but it was still a satisfying start.

Hmm. He really wanted to see their reactions. Should he hack the cameras or watch the various bystander recordings that were being uploaded to YouTube while he debated his options?

Oh, who was he kidding? He’d definitely check out a few of the recordings later, but he really wanted a stable, non-moving, relatively clear video first.

And it wasn’t like he hadn’t earned the privilege.

“Hey, FRIDAY, can you get a copy of the CCTV footage from that street?” he asked as he settled into his car and nodded permission to drive to his chauffer.

“It’s already done, Boss. I went ahead and sent a copy to Lady Boss, Mini Boss, and Colonel Man, too.”

Pride swelled up, though it was tinged with sorrow. At times like this, he missed JARVIS so much it hurt. But damn, his baby girl was growing in leaps and bounds, and he was fiercely proud of her.

Also, this new security detail thing was working out very well. Surprisingly so, actually, and he was paranoid enough to worry that it was a trap of some sort, but only until he remembered the circumstances that had created the situation they all found themselves in.

And smiled.

~~~

When the UN decided to bring the Rogue Avengers back to the US, the political thought process behind that decision understood that most American citizens reasoned along these lines: since they didn’t destroy anything in America, it can’t have been that bad. Yes, they damaged stuff over there, but we all know that countries exaggerate things to get more money/political power/favors/whatever. Besides, what possible reason could a small team comprised mostly of Americans have to wreak that kind of destruction in so many foreign countries? Still, the others are unhappy and the team is based in America, so if they just stay here, well, problem solved and everyone is happy.

Was it simplistic? Yes.

Was it an accurate summation? Sadly, yes. People the world over tend to . . . downplay . . . accidents, damages, and tragedies when they aren’t directly affected. This is simply human nature.

In the case of the Rogues, they also had the massive advantage of Tony Stark, who picked them up when SHIELD was demolished, and kept the American public from seeing just how destructive the team could be. He didn’t do it out of a sense of altruism, mind; he simply understood public relations, morale, and the value of public support. And, of course, he’d believed they were a true team.

Which was all well and good until the bastards decided they knew better than literally everyone else, collectively went rogue, caused more death, harm, and destruction than anyone could truly fathom, even two years later, and then fucked off to Wakanda, smug in the knowledge that Tony would clean up after them again while they got to hide from the consequences of their actions.

It never occurred to any of them, with the possible exception of Romanova, that Tony knew exactly where they were, which meant the UN did as well; they simply decided to leave the rampaging horde in the care of the arrogant king who had decreed ‘let them come!’. And so, for more than a year, all was well: Rogers and Company were detained in comfort, unaware they were actually in a prison; Tony was well on the way to getting Thaddeus Ross executed for treason and crimes against humanity; he and Rhodes launched a brand new, much more effective Avengers Initiative, one that spanned the globe; and the Accords were amended and would be ratified about four minutes after Ross’ execution. For fifteen months, despite the waiting game, things were positively blissful in Tony Stark’s life.

Well, we can’t have that.

A certain political faction in the US needed the boost that reviving the legend of Captain America would give them, one that could only be helped by bringing the man and his compatriots back to the country, and they managed to scrape together enough clout and favors to get it done. The UN was persuaded to agree because some of the reps and/or member countries hated America and clearly saw how stupid an idea this was, and how badly it was going to end; some of them hated the countries who were adamantly against any kind of pardon and agreed just to spite those countries; and a few were trying so hard to be neutral that they truly couldn’t see the woods for the trees.

The end result was the pardoning of the Rogue Avengers in the United States, the decision not to press charges in any other country, at least for the time being, and the planning of their triumphal return.

But then they ran into an unexpected roadblock.

(Literally; one of the senators smacked into the glass conference room door, crushing his coffee against his torso, and had to go to the hospital to be treated for burns, and one of his fellow senators tripped over his thrashing body and broke her ankle, while their aides dropped briefcases and envelopes, scattering paper everywhere and creating a domino effect.

A passing observer noted that it looked a great deal like that one scene from Jumangi, complete with screaming people and rabid monkeys (or was it the other way around?). There might or might not have been a montage of photos, posted on YouTube and going viral within a day)

“No.”

Tony Stark said nothing else; he simply stared down the moron who had just had the audacity to inform him — they didn’t even have the courtesy to ask, which, what the hell?! — that he was being given the responsibility of Rogers and Crew, including housing, food, and weapons.

It was immensely satisfying to watch the woman mentally, physically, and verbally flail for an answer to Tony’s blunt refusal, and he wasn’t remotely subtle about taking a picture of her flabbergasted expression. The flash from the camera on his glasses hit her right in the eyes, which only made it funnier, and Tony took a few seconds to just bask in the glow of utter enjoyment.

“I don’t — what d—I can’t — what do you mean, ‘no’?” she finally managed to ask, still shocked and utterly unprepared for his answer.

Tony’s smile in response was more than a little feral.

So was his answer.

“I mean ‘no’,” he stated, his eyes burning with hate-fueled fire. “Nyet, nein, nay, non, não, nej, nee, nie. Not only do I refuse to have anything to do with those backstabbing, treasonous, treacherous freeloaders, I also legally can’t,” he told her coldly, watching in dark amusement as the entire room went unnaturally quiet on hearing that. A faint smirk curled his mouth as he continued.

“Three days ago, I was granted Orders of Protection from Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, James Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanova, Nicholas Fury, Phil Coulson, and the alien known as Thor. Those Orders include any and all past, present, and future aliases, and they do not allow any of the aforementioned individuals to physically be within 100 yards of my person. The protection orders granted to me by the state of New York decree that the group is to be treated as one entity, rather than ten individuals, though they are all separately listed. This is, of course, based on the evidence requested and provided in order for said Orders of Protection to be approved and granted. However, I understand that this council is highly supportive of ‘fairness’ and ‘giving second chances’, so I did make allowances for their inability and refusal to respect me, my person, and my wishes.”

He paused there and let his censorious gaze skewer each member of the UN panel who had either insisted on this idiocy or capitulated, noting with satisfaction that his internal bets about which person was truly in support of this asinine idea and who was there under duress were mostly correct. Getting confirmation of who was a member of what bloc would help him solidify his own power and position, which was definitely going to be a good thing going forward. Was it worth the headache of bringing the Rogues back? No, but then, in Tony’s educated opinion, the literal end of the world wouldn’t justify that.

However, his opinion hadn’t been sought, so here they were: the UN flailing in shock at being told ‘no’ because Tony Stark was The Futurist and always planned ahead.

“Allowances?”

This hesitant question came from the Spanish rep — and current Council president — and Tony turned to him, nodding as he answered.

“Yes. None of them will believe that I willingly took out a restraining order against them, because this was ‘all just a huge misunderstanding, and if we can just talk things out, everything will go back like it was’,” he sneered, hearing Rogers’ voice in his head so clearly, he was afraid for a minute the bastard had managed to break into the room. A quick inhalation confirmed the presence of the housing unit on his chest, meaning he was protected should that event occur, and that allowed him to continue making his not-remotely-subtle-point. “So the first violation will result in them being formally arrested and taken to the local precinct, where they will be booked and charged before this council intervenes with the declaration that it was just a well-meaning mistake.”

Unhappy objections began to rain down on him, which Tony ignored with the ease of long practice, his focus never wavering from the man he was speaking directly to.

“This will probably happen within the next two weeks, but it won’t take longer than a month,” he added, lips curving the tiniest bit at the man’s obvious surprise. “And I won’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

For the record? He was going to absolutely wallow in being proved right.

~~~

It took just over seven weeks for the second violation to occur — but this one wasn’t nearly as well-thought-out, and was therefore a lot sloppier. It was also really, really stupid.

Then again, it was Barton and Maximoff . . .

Predictably, the arrest of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson for attempting to accost Tony Stark against his express wishes and backed by a legal restraining order had made headlines, with the multiple bystander recordings going viral. Also predictably, though equally frustrating, was the majority opinion that Tony was the bad guy. He did acknowledge that this attitude was his own fault, as he had refused to release any videos or evidence of the Rogues’ crimes that weren’t already available — which meant that while the US was aware of most of what they’d done in Europe, they really didn’t have a clue about just who and what Rogers and his team were at home. The American people had no idea about the gaslighting, the backstabbing, the lying, the cheating, the stealing, and the betrayals.

That would change after the UN finished trying to bury the first attempt of the Rogues to violate their restraining orders.

The multiple attempts to murder, or at least kill, Tony Stark, were being kept in a locked, sealed, underground vault until the very end. Nobody wanted there to be so much as a sliver of doubt by the time Rogers made it necessary to release that information.

And he would; he was just too egotistical and stubborn to stop.

Also, despite Romanova’s arrogant ‘interview’ after that fucking data dump, most of the public didn’t understand that she and Rogers had committed treason, with Wilson willfully complicit. They also didn’t know that the helicarriers-falling-on-the-Potomac was the deliberate choice of Rogers and Wilson, with Tony intentionally left out of both decisions for reasons unrelated to James ‘The Winter Soldier’ Barnes.

(Pepper and Rhodey had, understandably, raged at Tony for his refusal to release any of this information once the UN announced they had no intention of bringing charges against the Rogues.

Peter, however, had started grinning with such malicious glee that even Happy had been unnerved, and when Tony gave him an approving nod, he had explained his mentor’s reasoning with satisfaction so vicious that Pepper made a mental note to have him do a six-week rotation in PR.

“He’s going to prove two points so well that no one will be able to refute them,” he said, leaning into Tony’s side when the man wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in for a side-hug, beaming proudly at seeing just how far his young protégé had come in the last eighteen or so months, and not just as Spiderman. His education in general business, Stark Industries business, and the politics that came with SI, had been intense and thorough, but Peter was a fast learner. He was also highly and personally motivated to become proficient in this aspect of the business he would one day inherit.

“Refute what?” Rhodes cried, throwing his hands up in sheer exasperation, and was clearly blindsided by Peter’s calm reply.

“Refute the unavoidable realization that this group of dickwads deserves it. Look, the UN proved early on that despite the numerous and serious crimes these people have committed overseas, they don’t really consider the Rogues a threat since Germany is the only country who was truly harmed that has any serious political power. Unfortunately, they’re also the country with the least amount of damage. Tony evacuated the airport so there wasn’t any loss of life or even any injuries outside of us, so while they’re upset about the airport, it isn’t as important in the grand scheme of things as keeping China happy right now. Sokovia and Romania and Nigeria are minor players on the political field, so their outrage has been noted and dismissed, and they don’t have enough allies or support to demand justice, especially since only half the Rogues are American., which means pushing the issue will cause problems too many countries don’t want to mess with.”

Pepper sighed heavily and massaged her forehead, understanding filling her eyes. “Of course. And right now, political power and position are currently more important — to the UN,” she stated, getting a nod from her fiancé and their semi-adopted son.

“Yes,” Peter agreed. “The Accords were supposed to get that under control, but they can’t be effectively used until Ross is finally out of the picture, and Tony’s working on that, but investigation and prosecution takes time.”

Tony interjected here, since he was the driving force behind getting rid of Thaddeus Ross. “And since Ellis is desperate to avoid embarrassment, he’s refusing to actually comment on anything, and despite how many people hate Ross, he’s owed favors or has blackmail on a horrifying number of them,” he said succinctly. “So while Ross IS going down, it’s going to take time. And until he and all of his influence are gone, the Accords are on the sidelines. They’re ready to implement, with most of the changes and amendments we’ve wanted from the beginning, but Ross has enough power and enough sway, illegal though most of it is, to prevent them from being ratified. But legalizing the version he wants would be a nightmare on literally every level, meaning  . . . we’re at a stalemate. That being said, according to Legal, it shouldn’t take more than about two months to finally get rid of Ross. Less, if he sees and accepts the writing on the wall and just pulls the trigger himself. But Betty has been onboard from the beginning, which he doesn’t realize, and I’ve been quietly gathering dirt and info on him starting about a week after New York.”

He paused for a minute to let his team absorb the information before continuing.

“So that you can understand better just what Ross is, how bad he is, I haven’t found a single person who likes him, admires him, or even supports him. He’s got a lot of support for some of his goals, sure, but not a single person will go to bat for him when it matters. And yet, he still has enough dirt and favors owed him that he has, thus far, been able to impose his will on something as big and international as the Accords. Which is why, when he finally goes down, it will ultimately be for treason. Everything else will be used to justify the death sentence and catch as many of his dirty allies as possible.”

He paused again, lips twisting in annoyance, before adding, “The most aggravating part of it is that if Rogers had just listened to me and Rhodey to begin with, we could have already had this done. The moron didn’t have a clue how to use his own power and influence, but I did. And he had it. Hell, he still has it. And that’s why I’m not releasing anything yet.”

Pepper sucked in a breath to argue, but Peter beat her to the punch.

“Since the UN refuses to file charges or even levy any kind of punishment, and the Accords panel can’t, there is no reason for Tony to be proactive right now. It won’t change anything at the UN, and probably won’t do much to alter public opinion in the States, either. People are fickle and believe what the media says, and since the media loves to hate Tony Stark, well . . . plus, they’ll die before criticizing Romanova and Maximoff, because Woman Power, and Wilson is black, so he gets a pass too.”

Silence fell again as everyone absorbed that, finally broken by Happy.

“So . . . what? We just let them harass Tony?” he demanded, eyes blazing with anger.

Tony and Peter both scoffed at that.

“Hell, no,” Tony answered. “We’re getting restraining orders, both for me personally and on behalf of SI. Warner in Legal has the business side handled, with all the proof of Romanova’s corporate espionage not just from 2010, but also when Fury stole and then altered my helicarrier designs with lethal, fatal results. And Paul Gibson says that a personal Order of Protection against all of them won’t be a problem, because the judge will see some of what they’ve done and he’s already confirmed it will be a private hearing, with them in absentia, backed by an NDA. That’s important because when we start releasing the videos and proof of all of their crimes on American soil, showing just how little those bastards actually care about the people they profess to want to help, there will be legal precedent. It will be a lot harder for people to cry ‘altered’ or ‘faked’ when an NYC judge who hates my guts determined the veracity of the evidence, along with the necessity of granting me protection from them.”

(Fury and Romanova would make one try at breaching SI, but neither Pepper nor FRIDAY were subtle. The second their bio-signatures registered with the system, a truly obnoxious alarm went off, alerting not just the Tower but also the entire city block that an infiltration attempt was in progress, and a confetti cannon, loaded both with confetti and a specially-designed stink bomb (courtesy of Peter Parker) went off in the area they were trying to breach.

Pepper didn’t bother asking the police to arrest them for the violation of the restraining order because watching them haul ass down the street, covered in glitter of every possible color and gagging on their own breaths. They were also forced to abandon their car because several members of SI’s new contingent of former SHIELD agents were gleefully chasing them with the intent to harass and create paranoia, not harm, was the best payoff anyone could ask for — and it was made so much better by the public’s reaction when that recording was released in conjunction with the others involving Fury and Romanova hurting, lying to, and manipulating Tony.

Pepper Potts was a lot vindictive when it came to the people she loved being wronged and hurt)

He stopped to breathe and Peter jumped back in.

“And after Rogers ignores the restraining order and his arrest is both public and official, then we’ll start releasing tapes, showing people the truth about how those assholes” — “Language, Pete” — “were treating Tony, while they freeloaded off him, lied to him, stole from him, and used him,” Peter seethed, gaze hot with a dark, contemptuous fury. “It won’t cause an immediate change in opinion, because people suck and don’t like being proved wrong, but that’s why we’ll start with the small stuff. And when they try again, deliberately ignoring the warning to stop and violating the legal distance restriction, then some of the heavier stuff will get put out.”

Rhodes grinned, his countenance just as viciously satisfied as Tony and Peter’s now. “So nobody will be able to cry ‘foul!’ when the third strike happens and you finally take the big legal step and get charges levied,” he concluded, turning his grin to Pepper when she moved to Tony’s other side, giving him a feral smile that made Peter gulp and step away, turning his gaze to Happy so he didn’t see the filthy, not-safe-for-young-audiences kiss Pepper laid on his mentor. Rhodes and Happy both laughed outright at him — but they didn’t look, either.

Once Peter’s sex ed had gotten a boost (seriously not needed, Tony, thanks for traumatizing me!), the topic turned to other things.

But the plan had been made, and all they had to do now was wait.)

So it came to pass that Barton, enraged over his ex-wife’s refusal to acknowledge his existence, on top of her accepting a job at one of SI’s overseas branches, took the three seconds necessary to convince Maximoff to join him and decided to ambush Tony at an SI release party.

Thanks to her lack of inhibition in using her powers, Maximoff got them past the front guards, but the duo was immediately forced into a position where all they could do was watch, seething, as Tony gave an impassioned speech about the future and another new direction for SI with the release of their first round of prosthetics, and Maximoff lost what little control she had left when the man got a standing ovation that went on for more than five minutes.

She let out a tiny scream of outrage that nonetheless drew attention and pushed her way through the throng, so intent on getting to Tony and shoving her magic down his throat in person that she forgot she could throw it long-distance. Barton was on her heels, startled but more than willing to go along with it, when he suddenly tilted his head, trying to figure out what he’d vaguely heard over the general noise of the crowd.

But he didn’t stop moving forward.

A bullet shattered his kneecap and he went down, groaning in agony as he tried to quell the pain. Hot liquid poured over his hands as he frantically attempted to hold his knee together, but behind the pain, he heard Wanda shriek in utter fury and felt the massive swell of magic as she threw everything her hate could gather at Tony—

—and hit the floor with an earth-shattering thud that made Barton’s teeth rattle. Blood was streaming from her mouth, nose, and eyes, and she was moaning incoherently, her hands twitching uncontrollably and leaking red threads of magic until a dark orange cord suddenly wrapped around them, followed immediately by a matching collar. She screamed once in fear and denial before going limp, conscious but docile, while Barton's vision flared white with rage. He managed to struggle to a sitting position and his gaze locked on an expressionless Stark, who was still on the stage, though he was now protected by several bodyguards.

But Barton wasn’t called Hawkeye because he liked M.A.S.H. He never missed a shot, not even half-dead and with one hand, so without so much as a flicker of intent, he snapped his wrist and flung a knife straight at Tony’s throat.

And went down screaming when a bullet destroyed his wrist, leaving him a bloody, pathetic mess of pain on the ground, while a second shot sent the knife flying off into a hastily-conjured shield. Stephen Strange gave the shooter a sardonic look and said, “I had him covered, you know.”

A derisive scoff was her response, followed by, “Like hell. Barton’s bragged for a decade that he’s the best that ever was, and everyone else is a distant fifth, except that bitch Romanova, and she’s still fourth, because he’s first, second, and third — yes, he’s made that exact claim more than once — and I was not about to miss a chance to prove to his arrogant ass that other people are better. Besides,” she added at his eyeroll, “you got the witch.”

Meanwhile, Tony had been surrounded on the stage by a phalanx of guards, all of them armed and furious. Stephen Strange, who was now flanked by Pepper and Happy, looked grimly satisfied that his magical protective measures had worked, while Pepper was so enraged, she was dangerously close to breathing fire and only FRIDAY’s desperate reminder that Boss had a plan kept her from ordering Tony’s guard to kill both assailants.

Well, that and Peter putting a tiny piece of webbing over her mouth before he made his way to Tony’s side, providing additional protection that wasn’t needed by then, but was still very welcome by everyone but Tony. Still, he understood the reasoning and, honestly, seeing the horror and raw disbelief in both Barton and Maximoff’s eyes at how well-shielded he was, and by people that Barton, at least, clearly recognized, was highly satisfying.

Then the police arrived, escorted by still more of Tony’s new bodyguards, and the lead detective arrested the pair of them not just for assault, attempted assault, and illegally bringing weapons to a venue, but also the second violation of the Order of Protection, using a voice and words that weren’t loud at all but were very clear, concise, and carried through the vast ballroom, leaving absolutely no one in doubt as to what happened and why, and . . . well . . . naturally, those videos went viral too.

More importantly, people were beginning to ask questions.

Such as, why did Tony Stark have restraining orders against every member of his former team? The video of Romanova and Fury bragging about holding a potential cure over his head at that donut shop suddenly didn’t seem so contrived, and neither did the one showing Maximoff declaring that Tony owed her whatever she wanted because he ‘killed her parents’. His sharp rebuttal to that, complete with evidence proving that no, it wasn’t an SI bomb that hit her house, was ignored by Rogers, who instead scolded Tony for ‘picking on poor Wanda, haven’t you caused her enough grief’ — and more and more people began to find that sinister.

The three short videos of Barton painted him in a bad light as well: sneering at Tony about buying friends because he was too much of an ass to make them on his own; conspiring with Romanova to funnel cash from the credit cards given to them by Tony into hidden accounts; and repeatedly getting Rogers worked up about Tony’s refusal to be the Avengers' full-time tech boy and mechanic. He and Romanova went to a great deal of effort to convince Rogers that Tony didn’t actually do anything for SI, it was all Pepper and her hard-working employees, Tony just stole the credit from them when he needed to get attention off another scandal.

The fact that it took very little time to convince Rogers of this was also noticed, though that one admittedly took longer to sink in.

But the Rogues’ reputation was finally starting to take some damage, and Pepper cackled in pure malicious satisfaction as she released the next wave of videos, along with the actual paperwork showing their financial malfeasance.

In the meantime, the UN did exactly what Tony had predicted so many weeks earlier. The cracks in the façade of a happy-go-lucky team deepened. The members of the public, both at home and abroad, were finally starting to see the dark underbelly.

Tony watched it all.

And smiled.

~~~

“The second time they breach the 100-yard perimeter, they’ll get a warning shot that will require medical attention, and once again they’ll be formally arrested and charged. This council will intervene again, but the panel will be split due to both embarrassment and an impressive refusal to admit that maybe this was a bad idea, so it will take longer to get them off the hook and the official record of this arrest will not be expunged.”

The discontented rumblings got louder, but Tony never even blinked.

They wanted to screw over not just him, but everybody that the destructive team of Rogers and Company had hurt, killed, or ruined their lives? Fine. That was their choice.

But if they thought for one second that he, Tony Fucking Stark, would just LET them do it with no repercussions?

Well. Before this massively horrible idea, he honestly hadn’t thought the UN was this dumb, but hey! You learned something new every day.

The UN was about to learn that actions have consequences.

And so were the Rogue Avengers.

~~~

“Tony! Stop being a child and talk to me!!!”

Showing for the too-high-to-count number of times that he neither possessed nor understood subtlety, Steve Rogers screamed this in the middle of Central Park, getting the attention of at least three hundred people, and cell phones were out and recording before the echo died. As ever, Rogers was oblivious to technology he didn’t like, approve of, or know how to use beyond the basics, so he didn’t realize his actions were currently being livestreamed on several platforms. Romanova did, but didn’t think anything about it . . . until Rogers pushed through a small knot of people and started running after Tony, who hadn’t even turned his head as he walked away, very obviously putting himself between Rogers and Romanova and the teenager who was with him.

She gamely followed him, knowing he wasn’t going to accomplish anything but annoying Tony, but that was okay. An annoyed Tony Stark was much easier to guilt-trip and manipulate than a calm one. She was three paces behind Steve when she saw two guns suddenly get trained on his head as a voice simultaneously shouted at them both to stop or they would be killed, while the crowd of people in their immediate vicinity was herded several yards back and formed into blocks. Holding true to character, Rogers either ignored the warning or refused to hear it, and kept running.

The Black Widow kept up with him, though she was confused and thinking hard. She knew one of the guards and recognized the other, but the equation didn’t make sense. Why on earth were two SHIELD agents working for Stark and threatening Steve?

The warning to stop wasn’t repeated and Romanova suddenly understood, with shocked clarity, what was really about to happen, and instantly changed her pace and body language. To any observer, she now appeared to be trying to catch her team leader and stop him, when the reality was that this was a desperate attempt to save her own life. Steve wouldn’t stop for anything and they all knew it — and he was going to die. But if Tony thought she’d been trying to respect his wishes and keep them both away from him, he would probably show her some leniency.

He always trusted too easily.

Two gunshots, fired so close together they almost sounded like one, shattered the noise of the park and instincts honed by thirty years of training and experience made Romanova drop down to a crouch and angle her steps to the right. A split second later, her left shoulder was screaming in agony and she gasped, collapsing to her knees and clamping a hand over the shattered joint. It hurt so much, she couldn’t see past the unexpected tears, but through the roaring in her ears, she managed to pick up the sound of approaching footsteps and instinctively went for the gun holstered at her ankle. A sharp, searing pain halted that attempt, though it took the woman several seconds to realize that someone had just thrown a knife at her hand and severed two fingers.

The pain of her injuries combined with the shock at being defeated so easily to snap her mind into painful clarity. Now frantic at the realization she was unarmed, seriously injured, and outgunned, Romanova tried to scramble back, blindly seeking protection from Steve because she could no longer protect herself. No one stopped her, but encroaching unconsciousness meant the oddity of that escaped her . . . only for her to be temporarily jarred awake when a hard object stopped her attempt at getting help or just getting away. A broken cry of pain escaped her lips when she twisted to see what it was, followed by a second horrified scream when she realized that Steve Rogers was sprawled on the grass, eyes blank, with a small hole almost dead center in his forehead.

The feeling of someone grabbing her left wrist and yanking it behind her back pulled her attention back to the people who just successfully taken down the Black Widow and killed Captain America . . . and she stared, the effects of pain and blood loss once again held at bay by her utter disbelief at seeing her former colleagues looking at her with so much contempt and hatred that it actually hurt.

Behind her, and with what she would have realized was a remarkably fast response time, had she been that coherent, a police officer cuffed her good hand as he formally arrested her for violating the Order of Restraint that Tony Stark had taken out against her.

Romanova tuned him out, instead staring at three agents she had worked closely and well with while they were at SHIELD, three agents who had just killed Steve Rogers and done a hell of a lot of damage to her.

“Why?” she whispered, feeling herself starting to slip into the black abyss waiting so patiently for her. The answer that followed would haunt her nightmares.

“You get three guesses. None of them count.”

~~~

“Their final attempt . . . well, to be honest, I have given my security detail carte blanche to make that decision. But know that I will fully support any and all actions they take to ensure my protection as well as the safety of any civilians who are nearby and could be caught in the crossfire. After all, we have ample evidence of what Rogers and his crew are willing to do in order to get their way. You’ve just chosen to ignore that to everyone’s peril. However, I refuse to put myself, my family, or my employees in a position where their lives can be threatened or endangered by a group of people who have no morals and no control. When they come after me, there WILL be consequences.”

~~~

“Please be seated, Doctor Cho,” Alejandro Matias said after her oath was sworn, gesturing for the woman to sit down in the chair behind her.

He got a frosty glare in response, but she sat down gracefully, crossed her legs at the ankle, rested her hands in her lap, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

When the silence finally became both embarrassing and unbearable, Matias cleared his throat and rather nervously said, “We’ve called you here to explain your refusal to provide necessary medical assistance to one Natasha Romanova, a member of the Avengers, a team under the command of this assembly.”

He said nothing else and swallowed hard when Helen merely stared at him, her eyes full of disdain. After thirty seconds of uncomfortable silence, she scoffed before finally deigning to reply.

“Who informed you that I refused to provide Ms. Romanova treatment, Mr. Matias?” she asked, her voice silky smooth and making every man in the room cross his legs out of raw instinct. Matias, however, squirmed; since this wasn’t an official UN hearing, just one of the Accords Council, it had been determined that an actual lawyer wasn’t needed. And since not a single doctor on their staff was willing to take on the role of ‘Interrogator’, they were forced to settle for someone who hadn’t passed any kind of Bar but still possessed basic legal knowledge — and he didn’t want to do it either. But it had to be done for form’s sake, so there they all were. Helen Cho was, of course, well-aware of this dilemma, and felt it was thoroughly deserved. “I spent nearly three hours treating her completely avoidable injuries and she will recover, though with several new limitations.”

“And that is exactly why we’re here,” Matias said quietly, taking a step closer to her. “It is well-known that you have access to the technology known as the Cradle, which could have healed Agent Romanova’s injuries to almost nothing, leaving her with near-total mobility in her shoulder and reversing the damage to the tendons in her other hand and thus, allowing her to continue to function as an active member of the team. So why did you refuse to provide this technology?”

“Ms. Romanova.”

Matias blinked.

“I’m — I’m sorry?” he said, confusion lacing his voice, and Helen’s lips curved in a tiny sneer.

“She isn’t an agent of anything, Mr. Matias. Her correct address is ‘Ms. Romanova’. But to answer your . . . question . . . I didn’t offer my personal, still-experimental medical technology because I didn’t want to.”

Silence.

Broken by a fart, causing the Argentinian representative to turn fire-engine red with embarrassment.

Thankfully for the room, Helen was well-used to Peter Parker and James Rhodes, so fart jokes (and the accompanying smell) were things she was easily able to ignore.

“She wasn’t injured during a mission, or by saving lives as part of an unexpected disaster. Her injuries were obtained in the process of violating a clear and immutable restraining order for the third time. I performed my duties as a doctor and treated her to the best of my considerable abilities, which is why, should she put in the effort at physical therapy, she will have almost 30% mobility in her shoulder. But I am under no obligation to provide additional, highly expensive treatment to anyone, simply because it is there. I developed the Cradle, I hold the patent for it, and I am still considering the merits of submitting it for formal, official testing and inclusion in the medical field.”

Matias gaped like a fish for several seconds, a move echoed by several of his colleagues, and Helen looked dispassionately at him as he floundered for something to say.

“I . . . you . . . I’m sorry, I’m confused,” he finally said, coming directly to the witness stand and resting both hands on the partition. “Ag—Ms. Romanova was a member of the Avengers, a team you worked with for several years, and yet you never even considered offering her the additional treatment?”

Helen drew a deep breath through her nose and then nodded once, sharply, before giving the man a grim smile.

“Not once,” she agreed. “No one ever considers the side performers of a superhero team, you see. Yes, you are aware that I am one of their primary physicians, but none of you have stopped to think about what that really means. I’ve seen the members of that ‘team’” — so much sarcasm dripped off the word that Matias almost slipped in it — “and I saw firsthand who they really are. I also saw the video of Romanova and Rogers’ attempted assault on Doctor Stark, so I know precisely what happened. She was following Rogers’ lead, because she knew that if he was able to actually interact with Doctor Stark, he would only succeed in annoying him, and she was scheming to take advantage of that. The reason I know this—” she had to raise her voice to be heard over the sudden cacophony of protests, but Helen Cho wasn’t just a veteran doctor to the Avengers team. She’d also run one of the most successful ERs in South Korea, helped raise her brother’s orphaned twins, and stood on the cusp of changing the face of medical treatment.

She knew perfectly well how take to control of a room, and did. A single clap of her hands, timed perfectly, silenced the crowd and pulled everyone’s attention back to her. She gave them another grim smile.

“The reason I know this,” she repeated firmly, “is because I watched her do the exact same so many times, it was impossible to keep count. When her stride hitched? That was her realizing that Rogers was about to be taken out and she needed Doctor Stark to believe that she was trying to stop him and respect the restraining order, and thus save her own life. It was in her eyes and body language, and I’ve become fluent in both over the years. It's absolutely appalling the number of times I’ve witnessed her behavior and poor treatment of not just Doctor Stark, but of anyone she felt was inferior to her — which, to be blunt, was everyone. And the rest of the group, aside from Doctor Stark and Colonel Rhodes, isn’t any better. Despite outward appearances, they are all arrogant, entitled, rude, hateful, condescending, and just generally unpleasant people. So no, Mr. Matias, I saw no need to offer a highly-experimental treatment to heal a woman who would have zero compunction about committing the exact same crime should she decide it suited her. Natasha Romanova has proven that she cares about nothing and nobody but herself and what’s best for her, and she learns nothing. She genuinely believes that she is the best that ever was and so she can do anything she wants without negative consequences.”

She stopped there and swept the room with an icy, contemptuous look, satisfied when not a single person could hold her gaze. Once she’d made her point, she returned her attention to Matias and decided to end this farce, for everyone’s sake.

“As a doctor, I have sworn an oath to do no harm. And I didn’t,” she told the UN council, though her eyes never left the unfortunate man in front of her, who was wide-eyed and humbled at what he had just learned. “I treated Natasha Romanova very well, with all the equipment and medicine at the disposal of every licensed physician. But I am in no way, shape, form, or fashion required to provide free treatment past that, especially for a criminal who was injured while willfully committing a crime — and in her specific case, it was her second direct offense. I understand that you might not like this answer, but that’s not my concern. Neither myself nor my staff was in any way negligent in our treatment, and the same is true for Mr. Barton. You see, in the real world,” she stated, leaning forward and finally letting loose her fury at being forced to participate in this absurd ‘hearing’, “actions have consequences. It is no one’s fault but their own that those consequences were both severe and permanent.”

With that, she rose regally from the chair and stepped down to the floor. Matias looked both flabbergasted and also insanely relieved, which she understood, and he made no effort to stop her or even object to her steady, calm exit from the room.

After all . . . what could anyone really say?

~~~

“And when whichever of them finally pushes too far and you can’t hide it or ignore it or explain it away as ‘well-meaning’, you still won’t admit that maybe this was a spectacularly bad idea and will waste a day or two hounding someone who has no real connection to the situation in a vain effort to absolve yourselves of blame. And when that also fails, we’ll be right back where we started, doing what should have happened from the beginning. But hey: everyone deserves a second chance. Only this time, it’s going to be on your heads.”

That bald, unapologetic, brutally true statement silenced the room, but Tony still never so much as shifted his weight as he watched the Council President absorb his words and their not-remotely-hidden meaning. Tony was done covering for those bastards, and he was also done with hiding his abilities. He was Tony Fucking Stark, dammit, and if he had to remind them of that by dropping an anvil on their heads, then so be it. But he refused to be in the same vicinity as that group of assholes, and despite what they clearly thought, the UN did not have that kind of power.

So Steve Rogers and his team of sycophantic enablers could just stay a football field away from him and when he — they — refused because they knew better than everyone else on the entire fucking planet, Tony could legally and morally enjoy watching the results.

And on that note . . .

“Well, I have places to be. Ladies, gentlemen, members of the Council. I bid you good day.”

With that, Tony turned and sauntered out of the room, internally grinning like a madman at the stunned silence he left behind him. Edwin Jarvis had been British and had taught him their glorious tradition of telling a group of people ‘fuck you’ without anyone realizing what had happened for a good twenty minutes. It wasn’t a trick he often used, but when he did, it was epic.

“FRIDAY? Start the first stage of Operation: Choked Thunder,” he ordered quietly as he exited the chamber, seeing his new personal guard falling into place around him and not minding the necessity for the first time in his life. Unlike the guards he’d had as a child, before Howard deemed him old enough to protect himself (at the ripe old age of eight), who had been resentful at their assignment, these men regarded his protection almost as a sacred duty. They listened to his concerns and observations and between them, they developed a system that let them stay close and, therefore, be effective, without standing on top of him, which he appreciated beyond words.

Plus, Pepper was ecstatic, Rhodes was thrilled, and Happy was actually happy at this new development, which just made things easier for everyone.

Phase 1 was now officially in effect.

If nothing else, it should be entertaining.

And it was.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Power Trip (Flat on Your Face)

Despite his perpetual cheerful outlook on life in general, Peter Parker loathed injustice more than almost anything else.

Almost.

Because the truth was, he understood that sometimes life just sucked and injustice happened. It wasn’t fair or right, but neither was it malicious, which made it easier to bear.

But sometimes, injustice was deliberately caused by people just because they could, and Peter hated those people with a passion that would have surprised everyone who knew him, with the obvious exception of Ned Leeds.

And several of the teachers at Midtown were the worst offenders.

He couldn’t figure out if they were so insecure that making kids late to another class or lunch or their after-school ride was the only way they could convince themselves they had the respect they so badly craved, or if they were just bullies at heart and thought it was hilarious to force kids to answer their phones on speaker if the thing should have the audacity to ring during class.

Because God forbid someone forgot to silence it, or thought they had and it didn’t take. And woe betide the person who was waiting for news (out of the entire staff of Midtown, two teachers would allow you to have your phone ringer turned up if you told them there was a medical or family situation. Two. Out of almost fifty), especially in one of the non-STEM classes. Pauline Nerone, she who taught the hell known as English Lit, was the absolute worst. Not only did the student have to answer the phone on speaker, he or she had to stand in the front of the room and face their classmates, listening to the teacher writing up a formal detention and report to the principal — while trying to have a normal conversation, because ‘I’m a Bitch’ Nerone wouldn’t allow you to tell the caller they were on speaker.

Suffice to say, everyone in the school hated Pauline Nerone. But her job was secure, because she had the highest ‘pass’ rate among the non-STEM classes (the fact that it was because no one wanted to retake her class was very carefully ignored, which just made her worse), so there was no recourse at all. The board liked her success rate, so the students were told to deal with it. Besides, what could possibly be so important it couldn’t wait an hour?

One Tuesday late in October, Kyra Meyers found out.

When her phone went off, the girl was so startled, she dropped both pen and textbook — which would have told anyone else on the planet that she clearly hadn’t been expecting a call, nor had she realized her phone wasn’t silenced. But Pauline Nerone cared for neither of these facts. A malicious smirk came to her lips as she pointed to the Spot of Shame in front of her desk. Kyra wasn’t quite able to mask her resentful look as she obeyed, which just annoyed the teacher even more, and she made a show of picking up a red pen to write up the detention — which would make it official and on the record, meaning colleges would see it. At the sight, Peter and Ned both had to hold MJ back before she crossed the classroom like she was Hannibal crossing the Alps and hit Nerone over the head with all six pounds of her APUSH textbook. As satisfying at that would be, it wouldn’t change anything, except getting MJ in trouble as well.

Thankfully, at least for the moment, Kyra didn’t see the additional proof of their teacher’s pettiness and came to a defiant stop in front of the desk, her features dark with frustrated anger, but her eyes full of a strong refusal to let this power trip get to her.

Then she answered her phone.

And 33 students and one bitch teacher had the unmitigated horror of hearing and seeing the world of a 17-year-old girl come crashing down.

Peter couldn’t breathe as he — as everyone — listened to someone who clearly didn’t give a damn inform Kyra that her mother, aunt, and cousin had been in a car accident and she was so sorry, but . . .

He didn’t even realize he’d moved, Ned on his heels, but he managed to catch the girl as she collapsed, the phone in her hand slipping to the floor while the hospital worker droned on about making arrangements and contacting any possible guardians, or OCFS if that wasn’t an option, andandand—

“Shut up!” he snapped, voice ringing with an authority that silenced the entire room as he snatched the phone and lifted it to his mouth. The woman from the hospital obeyed as well and for several seconds, there was no sound but Kyra’s heaving breaths and Ned’s quiet murmurs of comfort, while Peter forcibly brought his temper under control. Once he was sure he could talk instead of screaming, he demanded to know what hospital she was at and after getting a stuttered reply, he simply hung up. As if on cue, his own silenced phone began to ring, Black Sabbath’s The Eternal Idol echoing through the still-silent room.

Still furious, Peter shot a venomous glare at Nerone and snarled, “You gonna make me put this on speaker?”

He didn’t even bother to let her process his words before he carefully got up and moved a few steps away, only to stop when Kyra grabbed the hem of his shirt and held on for dear life. Instantly, he dropped to one knee and let her take his free hand, taking a deep breath before murmuring, “Answer him, Karen.”

For a reason no one but Ned understood, the rest of the room was inexplicably nervous about hearing the conversation that was about to ensue (even though they didn’t know who he was talking to and some of it went entirely over their heads).

“Dad! It’s okay, I’m okay, I am — no, really, I’m fine. I’m not hurt at all, I’m just incredibly pissed off and I need you to come get me,” he said in a deceptively calm voice, given the fury still etched across his face, which faded quickly at whatever he heard in response. “N—no, calm down. I. Am. Fine. But I need you or Mom to ask Mark about the privacy laws in NYC, Queens to be precise, and how they apply to minors. Wel—no, seriously. I’m okay,” he said again, shifting a little and wincing as he bumped against the desk, eyes going darker as he continued. “But one of my teachers gets off on the power trip of forcing her students to answer a phone on speaker in front of the whole class and — nononono! No, it wasn’t me, and it’s not me now. But my classmate . . . she . . . we need to get her to the hospital. Yes, we. There’s . . . there’s no one else right now.”

After that sobering statement, Peter fell silent, saying nothing as whoever he was talking to ranted so loudly that the class could vaguely hear his voice, though they couldn’t make out the words. When the caller finally ran out of steam — or, more likely, stopped to take a breath — he jumped back in and confused his classmates even more.

“No, I know. You’re right. But I either want to press charges, because I’m sick of this bullshit, or make sure she knows what her options are, because this is . . . this is fucking ridiculous. And it’s wrong. Even if someone leaves their phone turned up on purpose, that’s no fucking reason to humiliate them just because you can. We all get enough crap from the students, we don’t need it from the teachers, too.” This silence was ominous and more than one person found themselves holding their breath as they waited for . . . something.

“Yeah,” Peter suddenly said, startling everyone. “Yes, exactly. That’s exactly what she did. And then she fucking smirked when she got her way. I . . . yes, it was that teacher. No, don’t hurt her!” he said quickly, looking panicked. All the blood drained from Nerone’s face. Outwardly oblivious, though several people found themselves wondering how real that impression was, he continued. “That’s why I asked if Mark c—oh, hey, Mom. Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine, I swear. I — oh. No, I’m going with them, but Ned’s here; he can tell you everything. Are you with Dad or — okay. Yeah. You have Ned’s number? Cool. He’ll be waiting for you. It will be today, right?”

From his position next to Kyra, who had stopped crying and was watching Peter with the same wide-eyed astonishment as the rest of the room, Ned nodded and gave Peter a thumb’s up. He got a fist-bump in return before Peter returned to his conversation. The rest of them actually leaned in closer, desperate to know just who their classmate was talking to — and why, exactly, he was calling people ‘Dad’ and ‘Mom’ when it was well-known that his parents had been dead for years.

“How lon—oh, you’re here? In a car?!” Silence. Then — “Oh, man, he’s gonna be pissed. You know how much he hates to miss his Tuesday game. I . . . well, yeah, but still — oh. Yeah, that’s true. A jet would be hard to miss. So you’re actually here? Good. We’ll meet you out front.” Pause. “Because I don’t want to deal with that headache right now!” he exclaimed, looking exasperated. “And if you’re being honest, neither do you. Okay. Gimme . . . maybe five minutes. Yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

At that, the call was unceremoniously ended. Without a word, Peter and Ned tenderly helped Kyra to her feet, and MJ, who had finally recovered from both her anger and her horrified sympathy, handed Peter his and Kyra’s backpacks. “Ned and I will get all the notes and homework for today; let us know if you need more,” she told him, before laying a quick but commiserating hand on Kyra’s arm, shocking the rest of the room with the uncharacteristic gesture of kindness. Peter gave her a wan smile before turning to Ned and arching both eyebrows. A firm nod was Ned’s only response, but it satisfied Peter and, still without a word or even a look at anyone else — especially the stunned teacher — he escorted Kyra out of the room. Several people tried to follow, desperate to see just who Peter was meeting, only to be stopped by Ned and MJ, who took up firm stances in front of the door and refused to move. When one of Flash’s goons tried to shove her out of the way, he found himself bouncing off the wall, courtesy of Abe, and suddenly, every member of the Decathlon team who was in the class was also blocking the door.

“It’s none of your business,” Ned snapped, silencing the whining protest coming from the popular redheaded cheerleader who liked to cheat off him in Biology, but still hadn’t figured out that he wrote down the wrong answers first and corrected them after she was done. Subtle, the girl was not. “All you need to know is that he’s got someone who can help Kyra. And if anyone breathes a word of this before she does, Peter will make sure that you get sued so bad, your grandkids will still be paying for it. It’s Kyra’s business, not ours, and we are going to keep it that way. Are we clear?”

The Junior AP English Lit class was clear.

The rest of the class period passed in an odd, awkward silence. Nerone didn’t say a word to anyone, nor did she summon Morita, but no one else spoke, either, other than Ned and MJ’s whispered conversation, held at the door they were still guarding. When the bell rang, nobody moved for a solid minute before MJ sniffed, grabbed her stuff, and sauntered out the door. Ned was at her shoulder in just a few steps and once they were gone, the rest of the class slowly followed suit. The remainder of the day was strange; no one was willing to risk talking about it, because they all had either Ned or MJ in the rest of their classes and neither of them was subtle about making sure that Kyra Meyers was off-limits, and so was Peter Parker.

Astonishingly, none of those thirty-one students could think of a single other topic of conversation for the rest of the day. The halls were so quiet until lunch that after the school day ended, the teachers actually convened a meeting out of genuine fear that a revolt was being planned. When they heard about the events of second-period English Lit, all of them were shocked and appalled . . . but very few of them felt any remorse or guilt at having the same policy.

Speculation ran rampant, of course, and it was only fed when Ned Leeds was seen later that day first in the hall, then the library, talking on his phone. He missed the entirety of Chem 2, to Monica Warren’s irritation, but, shocking the room silent, she let him be and never said a word about it, despite her obvious unhappiness with the situation. The real astonishment came when someone let slip that the librarian, who was notorious for throwing out students for the crime of whispering to each other, made one objection, had the phone shoved in her face, and after maybe thirty seconds, turned white and went back to her desk, leaving Ned to his phone call — and those whispers couldn’t be silenced.

Who did Peter Parker and Ned Leeds know that could make the arrogant Monica Warren and the tyrant Jessica Stein back down?

It would be another two months before even one of those questions was answered, but by the end of the following week, Midtown had two new policies regarding cell phones and calls: provide the staff with the relevant information regarding medical and/or family situations as soon as possible, earning the right to have your ringer turned up; and, if your phone rang in class, you had the option to either decline the call and silence it, verified by the teacher, or you answered it in the hall, with the door closed and the teacher listening to the student’s half to ensure they weren’t just making plans with friends.

These two rules were welcomed with great relief by the vast majority of the students, something that both irritated and shamed the staff to no end and was therefore ignored; no apologies were ever issued for their implementation and usage of such malicious bullying tactics, but all detentions that had been issued as a result of cell phone calls were quietly overturned and removed. The lack of true remorse annoyed everyone, but most of them knew better than to expect anything else. After all, if an adult apologizes to a kid, especially a teacher or school official to a student, it would cause anarchy and destroy all of civilization.

The fact that a genuine apology would actually create more respect never occurred to any of the adults in question, and that was the main reason Kyra Meyers made creating a cleaner, safer, respectful school culture her senior project, and it continued into her college years.

And Peter?

That he had helped right such an egregious wrong, especially one that had the potential to affect him and his friends so profoundly, was something he took great personal pride in, though he refused to talk about it publicly. In his eyes, he had done nothing more than provide background support, and while he and Kyra became quite close after that incident, she honored his wishes and only spoke in vague generalities when asked about Peter and his role in her crusade to create a more respectful school atmosphere — much to the frustration of the entire school. But neither threats of punishment nor promises of reward could entice Kyra to break the promise she’d made to keep the identity of the man who’d helped her that awful day.

Paula Nerone took a leave of absence at the end of the week and didn’t return until the next semester, but left for good at midterms; she was simply no longer effective as a teacher and few people mourned her absence. Interestingly enough, several of the teachers who had gotten so much enjoyment out of the Phone Call Power Trip also left Midtown at the end of the year, though the attitude of the ones who remained got worse. But their ability to create and enjoy that kind of abuse of power had been substantially curbed, and overall, the students were noticeably happier, which created a better overall atmosphere, and that was really what Peter wanted.

Because the truth was, he understood that sometimes life just sucked and injustice happened. It wasn’t fair or right, but neither was it malicious, which made it easier to bear. When it was deliberate and spiteful, he was proud to say that he would do his considerable best to fight it, and not as Spiderman.

Peter Parker had finally found his voice.

And it would make more of a difference than he would ever know.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Hypocrisy (I Know You Are, but What am I?)

When the former Avengers, now unfortunately pardoned (and unofficially renamed (to their extreme but thus far fruitless irritation) the Scavengers by a very vocal, well-organized, and determined majority of the American population), successfully managed to bring Peter Parker up before the Accords council on accusations of violation of privacy, alleged theft, and potential espionage on behalf of Stark Industries, they were all shocked and angry to see that he was completely and utterly unconcerned. He and Tony Stark settled next to each other at the defendant’s table, along with their lawyer and Tony’s Accords liaison. The two of them were talking quietly back and forth about . . . a vine and some marshmallows?

Steve Rogers didn’t understand a word of what they were saying and he didn’t care to, scowling fiercely as he sank into his own seat. Natasha and Sam were at his side (it should have been Bucky, but someone had guilt-tripped him into agreeing to stay in Wakanda for a full year after the others returned to the US), with Clint and Wanda (wearing delicate power-dampening bracelets, to everyone’s fury) beside them. Tony was too petty to give his former team a lawyer and they couldn’t afford one, nor did anyone offer to take them pro bono, so it was just the three of them and their own liaison, who was as unhappy about being there as Steve was.

Of course, Perkins was just upset because he’d tried hard to convince Steve’s team to let the matter drop as unwinnable and been adamantly and aggressively refused. Steve didn’t care about hurt feelings and he sure as hell didn’t care about something called reca—reci—oh, what was the word? Something about Peter doing the same thing they had, which was ridiculous. They had just been trying to get information on a stranger who had full access to their home, including places they were now denied, and since first Stark and then Peter himself refused to tell them what they wanted to know, they’d had no choice but to take matters into their own hands.

That little bastard had no right to break into the Avengers’ rooms in response and Steve was eager to see him finally have to face the consequences of his actions — and he didn’t give a damn what the American people said, his team were the Avengers, and everyone could just deal with it. They refused to answer to any other name, though so far, their defiance of this petty humiliation had made little noticeable difference. But Steve wasn’t worried; sooner or later, he would prevail, because he always did. Right would always prevail over might.

The Council President (Dansen? Draper? Something like that; it wasn’t like he really needed to know) banged her gavel to start the meeting, startling Steve, and he jerked to attention, seeing Sam do the same out of the corner of his eye. Nat just looked bored, which was both reassuring and a little irritating, but that was always how she made him feel, so he didn’t think anything about it. Instead, he turned his anticipation to watching this snot-nosed child, who had never showed Steve or any of his team an ounce of respect, no matter how hard they tried to show him that they were much better mentors and teachers than Stark and Rhodes could ever be, get his comeuppance.

Steve was glaring so hard at the teenager who was ignoring him that he missed the opening monologue, the stated purpose of the hearing, and the recitation of charges. So it caught him completely by surprise when Parker nodded in response to something and stood up, giving the president a — had he really just bowed to the woman?!

Steve didn’t have the chance to begin to process the obvious brown-nosing when Parker glanced at him and . . . winked. That little bastard had the audacity to wink at Steve, like this was a joke and Steve was the butt of it!

Well, if he had needed more evidence that Stark was a bad influence on the boy, this was it, and he made a mental note to remember to bring the insolence and disrespect up later, once the teenager had been punished for his actions, even if Steve now suspected that they hadn’t been completely voluntary. After all, he’d long thought that it was incredibly dangerous to allow a man like Tony to have as much power as he did. The money just made it worse and people’s misdirected adulation for him had all combined to create a man with an ego so huge and out of control that he had become a danger to everyone but people like Steve and his team, who had seen Tony for who and what he was: an egotistical, narcissistic wastrel who had been given everything instead of working to earn it, like Steve had, and Nat and Clint and Sam and certainly poor Wanda.

And Bucky, of course.

No. No, Tony Stark did not understand the value of hard work and he certainly hadn’t sacrificed anything to get what he had. And he was clearly corrupting this young man to follow in his footsteps.

“—ke a statement before we begin?” the Accords president asked, making Steve come back to the present, and he turned his full attention to Parker’s table, reluctantly curious to see what the kid would try to say in his defense. Yes, Tony was corrupting him, but the boy wasn’t stupid and could have thought things over and stopped at any point before he’d violated everyone’s privacy and forced the Avengers to take this extreme step.

After a quick look, first at Tony and then their liaison, Peter nodded. “I would indeed, President Denisof,” he replied, his voice full of confidence. “I would like to apologize to this council for the complete waste of time the Scavengers have forced on us in dealing with these bogus charges, though I do appreciate your quick, measured response and reaction time.”

Silence fell so hard, it felt like the floor was going to crack from the force, and the entire room was staring at Peter Parker with gaping mouths, wide eyes, and facial expressions ranging from stunned to appreciative to outraged.

Other than Tony, Steve suddenly noticed, narrowing his eyes. Tony was completely unsurprised by this. More than that, though, he saw pride . . .  and what looked a lot like anticipation. Behind his own rage and disbelief, Steve was wor—no, not worried. Captain America did not ‘worry’ about things. But he was very wary about what his former teammate was going to try. The man was as slippery as an eel and had no compunctions about doing whatever it took to get what he wanted.

While Steve was processing things, he absently noticed that Nat had her hands full keeping Wanda calm, and Sam was watching Tony very closely while holding Clint in place with a tight grip on his wrist. Steve badly wanted to ask his thoughts about this, but before he could get that far, Tony, their liaison, and their lawyer all stood as well, silencing the few murmurs that had just broken out and pulling everyone’s attention to them.

Without so much as hint of his usual showboating, Tony also gave the president a respectful nod before taking Peter’s arm and urging him to take a single step back, which the boy did. Then the liaison, whose name Steve didn’t know, cleared his throat and opened the folder on the table in front of him.

“As Mr. Parker so eloquently said, I too would like to apologize for the waste of time this would have been, but since we’re already here, Peter Parker and Tony Stark chose not to call a second hearing and would instead like to make use of this gathering, which is legal according to the bylaws established when the Accords were ratified. They are requesting that this court drop Mr. Rogers’ charges against Peter Parker on the grounds that they are not legitimate, and would like to file charges against Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanova, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, and Wanda Maximoff for attempted theft and/or burglary, breach of their SI housing contract, violation of their Accords contract, and repeatedly threatening the safety of a minor.”

Pandemonium.

Steve didn’t realize he was on his feet and shouting until Sam got a hand clamped over his mouth and shoved his chair into his knees, forcing him to drop into the seat or fall on his ass. Muffled screams next to him made him turn and he watched in wide-eyed astonishment as Nat somehow managed to subdue Wanda, who was literally shaking with rage. Seeing that his team was okay freed Steve to return his attention to Stark and his group of backstabbing liars, and he wanted his shield so badly his hands physically ached for it. Instead, he was forced to watch with powerful but useless anger as Parker and Stark calmly ignored the commotion they’d caused, while their Accords lapdog conferred quietly with the lawyer, who was rummaging in his briefcase. Then an out-of-place stillness from his left made Steve glance that direction, only to stare in confusion when he realized that the council president didn’t seem surprised, either.

This was starting to feel like a set-up, and Steve clenched his jaw. Stark thought he was so clever, pulling this cowardly act in an effort to protect the child he’d corrupted, but he’d soon learn that Steve Rogers, Captain America, did not bow down to bullies. Ever.

And Tony Stark was the ultimate bully.

The noise filling the room suddenly tapered off, almost like it was recorded or planned, and the subsequent silence was jarring. But before he could take advantage of it, Steve was rudely cut off by the sound of a pounding gavel and blinked, mouth open in preparation to speak.

“Indeed?” the woman said calmly, giving Stark’s group an unimpressed look that made Steve feel better. He didn’t like or trust the Accords and anyone associated with them, but it was reassuring to see that not everyone had fallen for Tony’s false charm. “And what, precisely, makes you think this council will be open to such a suggestion?”

The lawyer cleared his throat and picked up a small item from the table, displaying it on his palm as he said, “We have evidence to substantiate our charges compiled on this drive, but each member of this council has also received notice of each incident, along with a copy of the recording of the illegal acts in question. Those were provided in real time, both as a way to create a working timeline of events and to avoid the accusation and appearance of tampering and bias.”

“Which recordings are you referencing?” Denisof inquired after taking a few seconds to process that, eyes glinting with the same curiosity that Steve felt, though his was backed by disgust that Tony really would stoop so low as to take things out of context to make the Avengers look bad — or, more likely, just make up evidence.

Well, it was too bad for him that Steve was always truthful, and his team hadn’t done anything wrong. Tony was a skilled liar and gifted manipulator, but the truth always came out in the end.

“The ones labeled PBPS; the appendices indicate the specifics of the incident itself,” the lawyer answered, once more catching Steve’s attention. “If you recall, before this . . . arrangement . . . was finalized, Dr. Stark felt it would be a wise idea to provide a real-time chain of evidence of any serious, and repeated, issues, should that be necessary.” Denisof’s frown cleared when she heard that and the lawyer continued at her nod. “So the recordings were made and provided to everyone on the approved list, but at Representative Janeiro’s request, approved by the council, he locked them from being viewed — for everyone, including himself — for a period of twelve weeks in order to establish an indisputable history of malfeasance or the lack of such. Unfortunately for my clients and this council, in this occasion, the evidence of wrongdoing is substantial and consistent.”

Again, Steve tried to stand up and object, and again, Sam restrained him. Furious and hurt, Steve turned to his friend and teammate, pinning him with a hard look that demanded an explanation, only to be met with a grim expression and the sight of two security guards standing very close to the table, hands resting on their still-holstered weapons. The threat was obvious and since Steve was unarmed, he had no choice but to sit down, fuming with impotent rage at his continued inability to do something, say something, anything, to stop this travesty and make these people understand just how dishonest Tony was, how willing he was to hurt people so he could get his way.

Through the roaring in his ears, Steve vaguely heard people talking and absently noticed that someone was setting up a computer by the far wall, but he didn’t surface from his anger-fueled fugue until a splash of cold water unexpectedly hit him in the face. Spluttering and shaking his head like a dog, Steve focused his ire on Nat, only to be met with a look of complete indifference. As always, her poker face made him envious and just a smidge intimidated, though he was more unnerved than normal, given their current, unexpected circumstances. A glance to his left showed that Clint was pissed off, and another look to his right confirmed that Wanda was absolutely furious (which Steve understood, given everything Tony had done to her, how badly he’d hurt her). Thankfully, Nat seemed to have convinced her to get her temper under control, which he was thankful for. The last thing they needed was an accidental burst of magic, no matter how much Tony deserved it.

The sudden sound of Steve’s voice echoing through the room yanked his attention to the giant screen on the wall and his indignation was replaced by confusion as he watched himself, backed by his team, face Tony down and demand answers about the mysterious teenage boy they’d all seen roaming the upper floors and corridors of the Tower. His eyes narrowed as he again saw Tony sneer at their extremely justifiable concern before telling them in a cold voice that the boy was off-limits. He was Tony’s personal intern and therefore no concern of theirs, and they were absolutely forbidden to have anything to do with him. No questions were to be asked and no attempts at contact were to be made, unless and until the boy himself initiated them.

Steve’s fists clenched as he watched and heard again the grating condescension in Tony’s voice when he said, “And even if that happens, Rogers, you get nothing but what he wants to tell you. No breaking into his room, or my labs, or any of the floors of the Tower and compound you aren’t already cleared for.”

The clip ended as Tony exited the room after that last statement, segueing immediately into a date and timestamped recording of Nat trying to get around Tony’s firewalls at Steve’s urging in an effort to find out the kid’s name, if nothing else. That video was replaced by another one showing her doing the same thing, then another. And another. Then three, four, five clips of Peter being warned by FRIDAY that he was in close proximity of some of Steve’s team, which made him turn and go a different direction every single time, something that bothered Steve immensely. Then there was one of Clint, complaining on their comms to Sam about Tony being an uptight asshole as he tried to bypass the blocks in the vents so he could get either to Tony’s personal floor or his private lab and spy on the kid. Three more of those clips followed, then switched to Sam trying to use Redwing to discretely follow Tony home so he could record whatever he could get, while Nat worked on disabling FRIDAY so the AI couldn’t warn her creator. Both attempts failed.

More clips of Peter being warned about running into the Avengers and going out of his way to avoid them, two attempts by Wanda to get close enough to read his mind that failed for no reason that Steve could see, a half-dozen more tries by Nat to hack FRIDAY’s systems, three of Steve cornering Tony and demanding answers, only to be brutally refused . . . until the day, over a month after they started their house arrest, when Peter willingly agreed to meet them — and promptly refused to have anything to do with them. He gave it no thought or consideration, and wasn’t even a little polite in his refusal, much less respectful. And they learned nothing whatsoever about him except his first name.

Steve remembered being so frustrated he could break something after that meeting, and the vindictive triumph in Tony’s eyes had pushed him over the edge of his control, to the point he’d been forced to go to the gym and demolish four punching bags before his temper finally cooled. This video, however, didn’t end with Tony and Peter’s exit from the room. It showed the conversation between Steve and Nat about bringing the boy to their team; now that they’d finally met, it shouldn’t be hard to show Peter that the Avengers were much better than Tony and Peter would learn everything he needed to know from them and be properly trained as an Avenger.

That clip faded after Sam’s agreement with the idea and Clint’s offer to try the vents again, but this time from a much lower floor. What followed were multiple videos of all of them seeking Peter out and pushing him to accept their offers of training and mentoring, with him refusing politely but coolly every time — when he allowed them to catch him, something that Steve hadn’t realized until this moment.

Then came the clip of Nat’s first successful breach of FRIDAY, followed by her subsequent failed attempt to break into Peter’s room — along with her obvious frustration. Her second failure was shown, her emotions much darker and much more dangerous, though she remained in control and just left Tony’s floor after planting the listening device she’d brought . . . which was disabled a half hour later, suggesting a standard security sweep. The next video was of Wanda and Steve trying to physically remove Peter’s door, and their gaping disbelief at their inability to do was shown in clear, high-definition detail that made Steve feel a little nauseous. Then it was him trying, with Nat standing guard at the elevator. Clint. Wanda. Sam. A recording of Peter being told of their attempts to violate his privacy — what the hell?!

First of all, how could the AI have known? Nat had suspended access each time, meaning it couldn’t see or hear or record anything. Secondly, they had done no such thing! They were just trying to find any information they could about the kid, since he refused to say anything and Tony was still being his usual childish self. How dare that biased computer twist their words and intentions, making Peter afraid of them? It wasn’t like they were going to hurt him; they just needed to know who and what he really was, because there was no way he could be allowed to work under Tony. The man was just too selfish and too dangerous to be a mentor to anyone, let alone a teenager.

The kid’s voice made him look up, curiosity warring with anger and something else he didn’t recognize, and he clenched his jaw as he listened. “So, taking their stalking out of the equation, they’ve tried to physically break in to my room how many times?” he demanded, hands on his hips as he turned to look at a spot on the wall that Steve, after a minute of confusion, assumed must be one of FRIDAY’s cameras.

“The combined efforts of Team Crap to gain entrance to your personal rooms totals 21, as of yesterday,” the AI replied, sounding upset, which again made Steve nervous. No computer should sound that real, that human; it was asking for trouble. Just look at ULTRON, for heaven’s sake.

“Really?” the Peter on the TV drawled, his voice hard and his face angry. Steve took a quick glance to his sides and was reassured to see that Nat and Clint were upset, Wanda was nearly apoplectic with rage, and Sam was grim and unhappy. At least they understood how manipulative this was, and how desperate Tony must be to stoop this low. “Well, then. I’m done with that. Please let me know the next time one of them tries, FRIDAY. They’re clearly too stupid to learn from the obvious, so we’ll see if they do any better with subtlety.”

“Of course, Peter,” came the warm, almost approving reply, and Steve swallowed down his unease. It would be so easy for Tony’s pet computer to go rogue, and since they were unarmed, it would be very difficult for his team to take it down — and it wasn’t like Tony would help. He’d be proud of it and encourage the destruction, convinced it was happening for a good reason.

The brightness on the screen suddenly turned dark, so much so that it was very jarring, and Steve had to blink away the afterimage so he could see again.

And there, big as life, was Peter Parker blatantly breaking into Nat’s room. There was no hesitation in his movements, and no evidence of guilt or remorse. It — wait. Was he . . . was he humming as he worked?!

Appalled, Steve closed his eyes and inadvertently leaned forward, trying to focus his sensitive hearing on what might be a non-existe—no, it wasn’t. The brat was actually singing the lyrics to a song that sounded vaguely familiar as his fingers moved with terrifying ease and familiarity on the keypad outside the Black Widow’s personal quarters. It took him a little over thirty seconds to succeed and he strolled in, giving the room one long, thorough once-over before clearing his throat and saying, “Okay, FRI, please mark out the boundaries where she’s got secrets or weapons or . . . well, anything, really, stashed. I just want to prove a point, not cause any real damage. And frankly,” he added, looking at the camera again with a straight face, “I don’t want to know what SHIELD is up to.”

“Certainly,” FRIDAY replied, followed by a rather startling number of gridlines glowing on the floor. Even Steve was taken aback, and he knew perfectly well how secretive Nat was, unless it was him or Clint. But he was forced to watch, hands fisted in anger, as Peter scrupulously stayed inside the small area that had been declared ‘safe’ and moved things on the desk in such miniscule amounts that Steve couldn’t begin to fathom what the point was. Then he turned and gave the sofa a thoughtful look, biting his lower lip, before going to it and moving two pillows with a smile that was so gleeful, it bordered on manic; this did not help clear up Steve’s confusion. Beside him, though, Nat took a sharp breath and he turned to look at her, puzzled by the chilly respect behind the anger in her eyes but unable to ask yet. Instead, he brushed his arm against hers in a show of support before turning back to the TV.

He might as well watch the lies and misdirection all the way through.

The scene was repeated four more times, one for each Avenger . . . and when it showed Peter futzing with the stuff on his desk, Steve felt the first stab of real confusion, coupled with profound irritation. He didn’t remember that happening, so what were the boy and Tony playing at? Why were they so blatantly admitting to Peter’s crimes?

He promptly received an answer, though it did nothing to clear up his confusion.

“Are you really telling me that not one of these idiots noticed that someone had obviously been in their rooms?” the teenager asked in a different clip, standing in his bedroom and looking so bewildered that Steve felt an involuntary stab of empathy; he was in the same boat right now and it wasn’t fun.

“Not that I’ve been able to detect,” FRIDAY replied, sounding . . . well, Steve wasn’t sure. But he still didn’t like it. “None of them have made any reference to your actions and nothing has been moved back to its original place. However, Stupid Rogers, Not-a-Spy Romanova, and Vent Barton have all tried again to break into your room in the last six days.”

Peter heaved a sigh and flung himself down on his bed, covering his face with a pillow and screaming into it with pure frustration. After a couple of minutes, he sighed heavily and sat back up, tossing the pillow behind him and running a hand through his hair.

“'The best spy in the history of ever', my ass," he groused before giving a very evil, very unnerving smile to . . . himself? "Then I guess I’ll have to up my game,” he stated, malicious satisfaction oozing off every word, and Steve swallowed, unaccountably disquieted. It made no sense; Peter was nothing but a teenager, albeit one who was clearly intelligent and just as clearly being groomed by Tony to advance his next dangerous scheme, so why should the sight of him plotting against the Avengers make Steve so nervous?

Once more, he was provided with an answer that made no sense, though it finally ended the tedium of watching all of them being dragged through the mud and viciously lied about, since the context of the ‘evidence’ had been skewed or just left completely out. Clear as day, the recordings showed Peter once more effortlessly hacking his way into the Avengers' private rooms . . . but this time, he simply dropped a single piece of paper on each sofa and immediately left. Steve’s anger flared yet again as he stared at the one he’d found: a rough sketch of a door, drawn in black ink, with a nameplate showing PETER in big, block letters next to it . . . and a startlingly good depiction of a skull and crossbones in the middle of the door, done in bright, vibrant red, with the words KEEP OUT below the drawing. The next two clips showed Nat and Clint receiving an identical piece of paper, and the date on Clint’s showed it happened the day before Steve forced his Accords liaison to file formal charges against Peter for breaking into their rooms and whatever else he could think of.

Silence fell over the room as the screen faded to black, and something about the atmosphere held everyone in thrall for several minutes.

To Steve’s complete lack of surprise, it was Tony who finally broke it.

Or rather, his lawyer.

“That’s the foundation of our intent to press charges against the five current plaintiffs, Madame President,” he said clearly. “We do have a few more pieces of correlating evidence, should they be needed, but my clients would like to restate their desire to have the current charges against one Peter B. Parker dismissed and new charges, all of which were listed earlier, filed against the aforementioned plaintiffs.”

The president gave a short nod of acknowledgement before turning her attention to Steve. After several seconds of uncomfortable scrutiny, she gestured for him to rise; irritation churning in his gut, he obeyed, but once again, he was denied the chance to speak.

“I must confess that I am disturbed by what we’ve just seen, Mr. Rogers,” she said quietly but clearly, her face impassive. “But I’m giving you a chance to respond, to explain your side, before I make a decision. The floor is yours.”

Steve had never been one for eloquent speeches or anything like that, and he knew it. Under other circumstances, he would have handed things off to Nat, but that wasn’t an option, so he cleared his throat and waded in, finally setting his building anger free.

“It’s obvious that Tony is just trying to manipulate everyone into thinking they’re innocent; every single one of those so-called occurrences were taken out of context,” he stated confidently, glaring at Stark and nearly losing his temper entirely when the insufferable man just winked back at him and leaned back in his chair, making a show of getting comfortable. Beside him, Parker did the same, and that finally pushed Steve too far. “All we wanted was information we deserved to know and should have been told at the beginning. Stark is the one who decided to play God and be difficult, leaving us no choice but to find answers on our own. And there is no reason for Parker to break into our rooms; that’s a huge violation of our privacy and completely unwarranted!”

Steve was panting when he finished and he noted with satisfaction that the people he could see looked appalled. He turned back to Tony and gave him a smug sneer, only to falter when he was met by satisfaction from Tony and . . . was that sadness? . . . from Parker.

What the hell?

“Mister Rogers, I — I don’t even know where to begin,” Denisof slowly said, and Steve reluctantly turned to her, his brow furrowing in puzzlement when her words registered. The evidence was plain as day, so what was the problem? “This . . . you . . . I — I honestly have nothing to say right now except to call an emergency session of the Accords Council. As all members are present, I am requesting a vote on dismissing the charges against Peter Parker and his legal benefactor, Tony Stark. All in favor?”

Hands began to rise, as Steve watched in disbelief. Horror and righteous anger swelled up when he realized that it wasn’t just a few people, but at least a dozen . . . and all of them were voting against Steve and his team.

How had Tony done this? Had he bought them all before the hearing? Used some new kind of magic to twist their minds? He had to have done something, because the evidence of Parker breaking the law was clear as day.

He was so deep in his anger that he missed the next few minutes, so the loud BANG of the gavel badly startled him and he instinctively reached for the shield he wasn’t wearing (no longer had). A deep sigh to his left made him glance at Sam, who looked grim and unhappy, while Clint was visibly fuming. Nat was still stone-faced, but Wanda was as furious as Clint and the bracelets were glowing in the telltale sign that they were keeping her abilities dampened.

“Very well. Dr. Stark, Mr. Parker, on behalf of this council, I apologize for this inconvenience.”

THAT made Steve’s head snap back to the podium. He was vaguely aware that he was gaping, but his mind was so full of emotions that he had no hope of sorting out that he didn’t even try to speak. Barton had no such inhibitions, but before he could get more than two words out, a large, beefy security guard had appeared and firmly pushed him back into his chair.

“Thank you, Madame President, but that’s not necessary,” Stark replied, giving Denisof a gentle smile that Steve had rarely seen. “This is exactly what was supposed to happen, and now we know the process works. I have no complaints.”

“Neither do I,” Peter added, standing as well. “But I do have a . . . well, a request.”

One dark red eyebrow lifted slowly as Denisof studied the young man for what seemed like an eternity to Steve, who was also staring. He, however, was extremely suspicious. Parker had so far proven to be highly intelligent, capable, and conniving. God only knew what he’d come up with now.

“Very well,” the Accords Council president finally said. “The floor is yours, Mr. Parker.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he said quietly, looking at the table for a second before turning his eyes to Stark, who gave him an encouraging smile. That was apparently enough, because Parker smiled back and straightened before looking Mediva Denisof straight in the eye. “Since you have all the evidence of wrongdoing, as well as proof and confirmation that it hasn’t been edited, compromised, or tampered with, then I . . . I would . . . may I speak freely?” he asked, sounding unsure for the first time that day.

Both eyebrows arched now, but that was the president’s only outward reaction before she simply nodded. Parker swallowed hard, gave his mentor another quick look, and squared his shoulders. His voice was suddenly strong and confident . . . and if Steve hadn’t already been sitting down, what the kid said next would have knocked him flat on his ass in an unholy mix of shock and pure, unfettered rage.

“I would like to request, as the victim of their willfully malicious attacks and behavior, that a trial be foregone in favor of a direct vote. I am perfectly willing to undergo questioning under a truth spell, if administered by Dr. Strange or Mr. Wong of the New York Sanctum, and I would have no issue with the same being done to them, and I will accept the results with no objections. But . . . not only have I been forced to suffer their persecution for nearly three months, I’ve watched them throughout the entirety of these proceedings and I’m saddened and disheartened to say that I haven’t observed any signs of remorse or regret from any of them,” he said slowly, clearly, his voice ringing with sincerity.

“I haven’t even seen a sign of understanding that what they did was wrong. And, for the record, I did not once hack the system to get into their rooms. I have full access to the Tower, but that access does require certain security measures to be met, such as fingerprints. Because they’re on house arrest, Dr. Stark wanted to ensure my safety should it be necessary. So I have access to their quarters should I need it, but I have to follow the established procedures, and if — when I used that access, it was automatically conveyed to Dr. Stark and I submitted a written report explaining the necessity within 24 hours,” he explained, looking a little frantic. It was obvious he’d only just thought of that and Steve was vindicated at seeing more evidence that the teenager was wrong and might even realize he was guilty.

“I — I’m not a child, but I am legally underage, and five grown adults have made repeated attempts to break into my bedroom,” Peter murmured, suddenly seeming very vulnerable, and Steve narrowed his eyes when Tony laid a hand on his arm in obvious support and reassurance. That was not like Tony. What was he up to? “Not only did Mr. Rogers already state here, today, that their actions were acceptable because they decided it was so, but not once in all those recordings did I see or hear anyone express any qualms about they were planning to do. One of those adults made multiple attempts to mentally violate me and force me to provide information against my will. I — that’s rape,” he breathed, now looking and sounding horrified, to which Steve mentally scoffed.

It was no such thing; Wanda was just going to find the information they needed and that he refused to give them. People in this time were so fragile and it drove Steve up the wall. “But what made me decide to make my request and file my own charges is the knowledge that none of them, today or at any earlier point, have offered any kind of disagreement or protest against their own actions, showing that they do understand it was wrong. To a person, they still believe their actions are justified and defensible and right, and . . .”

He paused and took a few deep breaths before nodding to himself and continuing. Not once did he look Steve’s way, which infuriated him even more.

“To be honest, I was looking forward to seeing them suffer the same indignity they were going to force me to go through, but now, after watching them and seeing what they really, truly are, I . . . it’s not worth it. They aren’t worth it,” he explained, gesturing to the table the seething, furious Avengers were sitting at — still without looking at them. “A trial would do nothing but waste time, effort, and money, because none of them will learn anything from it. They’ve seen their own actions and still think they’re in the right, because none of them are capable of understanding when they’re wrong, so there will be no regret and no change in behavior, even when — if — a guilty verdict is returned. And I’m not like them, I refuse to be like them, and I will not be that petty. Frankly, we all have better, more productive things to do than drag out dealing with a group of sulky toddlers who have wasted every single opportunity and chance they’ve been granted and, given everything that’s happened today, clearly will not learn from this one either. If a trial is mandated due to the rules and regulations laid out in in the Accords or their contracts, then of course I’ll cooperate fully, but if using direct evidence and testimony to bypass it is possible, then I am formally making my request to this council for that expedited process to be implemented.”

Silence fell again, but this one was different.

It was a difference that Steve didn’t notice for several minutes, because he was too busy choking on his outrage at Parker’s brazen attempt to bully the Avengers into compliance while wriggling out of the consequences of his own illegal actions. But when the red cleared from his vision and he was finally able to take a full breath, Steve realized that the entire room was looking at Peter Parker with . . . no. No, it couldn’t be. There was no possible way a teenage boy was getting the respect of people from literally the entire planet.

Especially not one being raised and groomed by Tony Stark.

But even as his mind flailed in frantic disbelief, Denisof nodded once and called for a vote to pass immediate determination of guilty or innocent. Once more to his horrified shock, the guilty agreement was unanimous. Wanda began shrieking in rage as the gavel came down to confirm their doom, but even as the bracelets stifling her powers shattered, thick but somehow translucent orange bands replaced them, and a matching collar shimmered into place around her throat, knocking her unconscious. Clint lost his mind on seeing that and lunged for Wanda, but he didn’t get three steps before a set of those orange manacles was restraining him. Then Sam grunted quietly and when Steve turned to him in a panic, he saw that his loyal vanguard was also confined. And as he tried to take that in, he saw a flash of orange in the corner of his eye, followed by Nat’s fierce but quiet curse, and knew she was down, even as he felt something ghostly but also solid circle his own wrists.

Raw instinct had him lashing out in a bid to free himself and fight his way out, but with each desperate attempt to use his strength, something jolted inside him and he felt more and more drained. But he refused to stand down, to back down, to the bullies running this corrupt operation, so he kept struggling, knowing that if he just tried hard enough, he could get free. And then he would take down Tony Stark and finally prove to the world that he, Steven Grant Rogers, was the better man.

As his vision and hearing began to fade out, he heard Parker speaking again, and his words chased Steve into and out of the encroaching darkness.

“I’ve never given up on someone before,” the boy said, sounding sad. “But there’s no choice here. And that’s just . . . sad. They could have been so great. I — do you think anyone will remember them?”

Stark hummed in response before answering. “For their sake, I hope not, because if people do, it will only be as a bad joke. But they made their choice — and I’m proud of you, Peter. You did amazingly well today and God willing, we’ll never have to do this again. Now come on; I’m hungry, so you’ve got to be starving. And Barnes asked if we could bring back shawarma; he’s never had it and neither has Pepper. We also have a Lord of the Rings marathon to start.”

Bucky?

Bucky was here? Bucky knew what was going on and hadn’t come?

Bucky had sided with Tony Stark and Peter Parker, Steve’s enemies?

Bucky had . . . Bucky had abandoned him?

The black depths of despair and bitter realization finally overwhelmed Steve and he willingly succumbed.

When he came back to himself, locked in a 10x10 prison cell for the next 57 years (deeper digging had resulted in disturbing information and he was convicted of both his original crimes and several new ones), Steve Rogers swore retribution on the boy who had destroyed his life and his future and his dreams. He didn’t even notice at first when Sam was paroled two years later, once he openly acknowledged that he’d fucked up, because he was still too furious about the corrupt, unfair process that had left the Avengers, Earth’s Heroes, in prison. About a year later, when Clint was killed trying to escape and Nat was permanently crippled helping him, he upgraded his plans to dark, bloody vengeance. When word came that Wanda had been executed for the crimes he’d covered up or flat-out ignored, the only thought left was his hunger for revenge.

But he’d never learned to keep his mouth shut.

Fifty-four months into his prison sentence, Steve Rogers instigated a vicious brawl that killed one prisoner, injured five more, and put him in a coma that he would never wake up from.

The world kept turning.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

of Importance

I'm dreaming tonight of a place I love
Even more than I usually do
And although I know it's a long road back
I promise you . . .

~~~

When the Rogue Avengers finally got their first real clue that maybe, just maybe, they’d been wrong, it wasn’t the result of a trial finding them guilty and giving them severe sentences. There wasn’t any heartrending, gut-wrenching testimony that made them rethink things, and it wasn’t a brutal ambush by an anguished survivor or family member that got through to them.

All those things happened, of course, but none of it made any actual difference. Not a single member of Steve Rogers’ team felt anything but justified in their actions, despite the overwhelming amount of proof and evidence that showed otherwise. It was shocking and frightening to the vast majority of the public to see such stubborn, blind, willful self-righteousness, but even being pelted with eggs, fruit, and a remarkable array of vegetables when they went out in public didn’t make a dent in the group’s dogged refusal to be wrong.

So what tipped the scales, you ask?

Well, it was something so insignificant, most people wouldn’t have noticed, or considered important.

One day about a month after the pardons had been forced through and the terms for house arrest had been set — and four days before Christmas, with one of Tony’s favorite songs playing unobtrusively overhead, the title shocking Steve into actual silence when he’d found out — the Rogues were going back to their floor from their mandatory training session at the gym. Per Steve’s orders, they were in full costume and weaponry, as it only made sense to train as if they were really fighting. Bruce was the exception, since he didn’t transform unless the Hulk was actually needed, but he still attended the training sessions in case anyone ended up needing a medic for accidental injuries.

It was mid-evening on Friday, a time the building was typically empty, when the elevator stopped several floors early. Surprised, Steve automatically took a protective stance in front of the doors, assuming it was a security breach, only to blink when he was met by the sight of Peter Parker, Tony’s personal intern (and massive pain in the ass for the Rogues, whom he utterly despised, to their confusion and more than a few hurt feelings), and his best friend, a boy whose name Steve didn’t know.

But he did know that the kid — both of them, actually — was extremely excited, even awestruck, about superheroes, as he’d witnessed a few occasions of stuttering and the boy dropping things when Rhodes and Vision and that van Dyne woman had been present. Garbled sentences about action figures had also been overheard, though they made no sense to Steve.

So he was expecting a gasp of recognition and a burst of enthusiastic babbling when the boy recognized them . . . especially Bruce, he grudgingly admitted. Both kids were science geeks and Bruce was a hugely important person in that area, even though Steve didn’t understand the attraction.

Instead, to his bewilderment, they both simply blinked back at him before Peter turned away.

“Come on; there’s a testing room on this floor I don’t think you’ve seen yet,” he said to his friend, who nodded and followed Peter as he walked away, to the group’s collective confusion.

But they all heard the next words.

“Who was that?” Peter’s best friend and frequent visitor asked, sounding genuinely puzzled . . . and Steve’s heart stopped.

Who was that?

They were the Avengers! They were in the Avengers Compound, all of them wearing their full costumes and armed with their traditional, highly recognizable weapons!

And this child had the audacity to ask who they were?!?!

“Nobody,” Peter blandly answered. “They aren’t anyone.”

“Oh,” his friend said, just as calmly accepting the reply, only to immediately perk up. “Hey, do you think we can talk to Dr. Cho later? I had a thought about our macro-biology project.”

They undoubtedly kept talking, but Steve heard none of it. He was simply unable to process the fact that Peter Parker, who knew perfectly well who they were, had just told his friend that the Avengers were nobody.

And his friend, who Steve also knew damn good and well had recognized them, had gone along with it.

The Avengers, Earth’s Heroes, had just been completely and utterly dismissed as inconsequential by a pair of teenagers.

Behind him, Sam quietly choked on nothing and Clint was growling something unintelligible under his breath. But it was Bruce who forced them to face the ugly truth they’d ignored for so very long.

“What have we become?” he asked, looking so disheartened that Steve’s heart ached even as his own pride shuddered under the brutal honesty of the question.

There was no answer.

~~~

I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams . . .

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Do You Believe in Magic?

When Steve Rogers came back from his triumphant excursion to the Raft to rescue his team, he was on top of the world. He had proven beyond a doubt that he was superior: he’d demonstrated the corruption of the Accords, he’d defeated HYRDA, he’d prevented the unjust persecution and murder of an innocent man, his best friend.

And he’d finally beaten Tony Stark.

Steve Rogers was on top of the world, and now everyone knew it was his rightful place.

(it never occurred to him, a man to whom technology was at best a nuisance, to wonder how, exactly, he discovered the location of the Raft, a place so shrouded in secrecy that most of the US government didn’t know it existed. He also didn’t think to wonder how he was able to ‘borrow’ the jet he’d used to get there and back. And it never crossed his mind that the reason he was able to get in and out of the Raft so quickly was because Thaddeus Ross had been expecting Tony Stark and set his trap accordingly; he’d been prepared for a technological genius wearing the Iron Man suit he’d been coveting for almost a decade, not a walking battering ram.

That was the only reason Steve succeeded and Ross’ response to his own failure to anticipate turned him from a moderate, albeit persistent, pain in the ass into a bitter, ruthless enemy Steve could never imagine and didn’t have a clue how to handle. In the end, despite his utter hatred for Rogers, Ross was worse, it was Tony Stark who took the chance, reverse-engineered Ross’ own trap, and ended his ever-growing threat. It was close, too close, but while letting Ross ruin Rogers would be satisfying (a little too satisfying, actually), Tony knew that letting him get that much legal, world-approved leverage would just be too dangerous)

So when he sauntered into the conference room T’Challa’s guards had led him and his team to, he was expecting accolades and an offer of support to finish the job: getting the Accords officially shut down and Bucky set free and put on the Avengers team where he belonged, at Steve’s shoulder as his second in command.

It therefore caught him by complete and total surprise when a bracelet was slapped on his wrist, causing an unexpected and alarming sapping of his strength and balance, followed almost instantly by a piercing scream.

Twisting to see what had happened nearly caused him to fall flat on his face, his balance was so out of whack, but Steve managed — and promptly landed on his ass, shock and panicked disbelief freezing his entire body.

Wanda was on her knees, screaming, while her hands . . . oh, God, her hands. They had been severed completely and lay on the floor some distance away. The sight was so horrifying that Steve violently threw up, completely unable to process anything but the fact that poor Wanda had just been brutally mutilated.

It took several minutes for his disbelief and appalled shock to settle, but when his brain started to work again, Steve groaned as he pushed himself to his knees, once again cursing whatever was stealing his strength. He couldn’t protect his team like this!

His horrified eyes landed on Bucky standing just inside the door, a bloody sword held casually in his right hand.

Bucky?

. . . Bucky had done this?!

“Buck?” he gasped, swallowing down more bile with great difficulty and staring at his best friend, who was glaring at Wanda with so much hate, it froze Steve’s blood.

No, not his best friend. This had to be the Winter Soldier. Bucky would never have done something so vile, so cruel. Which meant that Wakanda, T’Challa, had betrayed him. Who were they in league with? The Accords? HYDRA? Tony? WHO?!

“Quiet,” someone hissed, sounding pissed off, and he blinked. What in God’s name was going on here?!

Scott suddenly cried out in obvious pain and crumpled, eyes screwed shut as he went all the way to the floor and curled in a fetal position, his cries quieting to whimpers that weren’t any better as a — a — what was that? Something that looked like the clouds of chalk that used to form when teachers erased the chalkboard rose from Scott’s head, appearing vaguely red before it dissipated. Bare seconds later, Sam followed suit, the same weird reddish cloud coming from him, both of them crying piteously and rocking back and forth, hands buried in their hair from the pain of being overcome by . . . whatever this was.

Appalled and feeling a desperate urge to fix what was wrong, even though he didn’t have a clue what it was, Steve took a deep breath and forced himself to his knees. His vision swam from making the effort, but once he was upright, he was able to inch his way forward enough to touch Sam’s elbow.

And then Clint screamed, long and loud and so full of agony that the shock of it jolted Steve back on his ass again, and he stared in absolute disbelief as Clint Barton, one of the strongest people he knew, collapsed in a shaking, crying heap on the gleaming marble floor. Again, a cloud of . . . something . . . formed around his head, but this one was much stronger and it was an angry, deep red, the color of old blood.

That was terrifying enough to witness, but then he moaned deep in his throat and tried to claw his eyes out with his bare hands, and the shock of seeing it paralyzed Steve, who could literally do nothing but watch while several people swarmed Clint, issuing sharp commands in a language Steve didn’t understand or recognize . . . but their movements were gentle and he finally realized that they were helping Clint, not hurting him, when one of the guards took a hard hit to the face and didn’t blink, much less try to retaliate or do anything but take his wrist in a firm grip to keep him lashing out again. Then the mysterious cloud vanished and those awful sounds began to fade.

Other than that, they simply waited patiently for several minutes, until Steve’s team had all calmed down. The screams and cries of pain tapered off and the three of them slowly sat up, aided by dangerous-looking women, who first got them sitting up and then on their feet and escorted to seats at the table in the middle of the room. Another pair of women did the same for Steve, though he was too distracted to be bothered by the fact that he was now weak enough to picked up by anyone, let alone women, and roughly walked him to a chair as well, while T’Challa regally seated himself at the head and a young woman who strongly resembled him settled herself to his right . . . and Bucky, his face expressionless but his eyes cold, took a position at her shoulder. He was clearly guarding her, which only puzzled Steve more, but a sudden pitiful whine pulled his attention to Wanda.

She was on the floor with several people standing around her — but not one of them was making any attempt to help her. They were all just . . . just staring at her, and the few expressions Steve could see were full of disgust and revulsion, which didn’t make sense.

Only then did he realize that despite losing — oh, poor Wanda — losing her hands, she wasn’t bleeding out. Confused, he craned his neck until he could see through a gap, only to blink when he saw a light pink haze, almost shaped like a block, surrounding both wrists.

It was a good thing he didn’t see the black collar locked around her throat, bearing the miniscule but distinctive logo of Stark Industries.

“It’s a magical stasis field,” the woman next to T’Challa said, taking him off-guard and yanking his attention back to the table and his team.

Who, to a man, were glaring at Wanda with so much hatred, Steve could taste the acrid emotions in the air.

What in the name of heaven was going on?!

“I’m gonna kill her.”

That was Clint, and it made Steve twist around to look at him so quickly, his vision started swimming. Dammit, why was he so weak?!

The glint of silver at his wrists made him blink and look down, and he finally registered the presence of bulky silver bracelets, one on each wrist. He vaguely remembered them being put on him when he’d first walked in the room, but hadn’t had the chance or inclination to think about what that meant until now.

Why did these people want him weak? T’Challa had helped him! Steve had proven that Bucky was innocent of everything and shown the king that the Accords were bad, and he had in return helped Steve rescue his unfairly imprisoned team, so why was he now being treated as an enemy? Had HYDRA gotten to him?

Or had Tony?

His face darkened in a scowl at the realization that it probably was Tony, who had always been petty and cruel when he didn’t get his way, but an unexpected voice broke into his angry speculation.

“The hell you are. Not before I’ve had a chance. You aren’t the only one she’s fucked with,” Sam snapped, his voice so thick with fury that Steve didn’t recognize it, and he blinked, stunned beyond words. What was S—

“Ditto,” Scott chimed in, sounding just as furious, and Steve swiveled to look at him, stunned. He didn’t know Scott very well, true, but not once in this entire affair had he gotten the impression the man was capable of that kind of anger.

Also, who were they so mad at? Sam hated unnecessary violence, so for him to be this angry was not only out of character, it was extremely alarming.

And finally, with that realization, Steve found his voice.

“What the hell is going on?”

He’d intended to be strong and commanding, as befitted Captain America, but his words came out as a question instead of a demand, his voice so hoarse it was loud whisper, and his team collectively turned to look at him.

The disgust and contempt aimed at him were scorching and Steve swallowed, even more unnerved than he was confused — and he was confused beyond belief. He had been almost completely incapacitated without warning or reason, Bucky had . . . he had cut off Wanda’s hands, his entire team had been in agonizing pain for no apparent reason, and now they were all glaring at him with what looked like . . . like hatred. Steve had no clue what was going on, but he was done with that. It was time for answers and by God, he was going to get them.

“Sam?”

He went to his second in command first, as was proper.

And was flattened by eyes full of disappointment, rage, contempt . . . the overwhelming negative emotions blazing from Sam stunned his team leader and Steve flinched back, instinctively reaching for his shield in direct response to the threat his body was registering from the man who, five minutes ago, had been his strongest supporter.

“I can’t help but notice that you weren’t affected,” Sam actually snarled. The venom dripping from his voice was frightening and Steve involuntarily pushed his chair back, trying in vain to get away from the palpable rage that was radiating from Sam — and Clint, he noticed with a poorly-hidden shiver, a direct response to a hatred he still didn’t understand and words that made no sense.

“No. He wasn’t,” Clint added, his eyes black with bitterness. Steve swallowed hard on seeing it, more and more disquieted even as his confusion continued to mount.

“Wait. Wait just a damn minute,” Scott interjected, and Steve glanced over to see him shaking his head in clear bewilderment, one hand rubbing his forehead. “What do you mean, ‘he wasn’t affected’?”

Clint and Sam both paused, visibly startled at the question, before Sam sighed heavily and slumped in his seat. “Of course,” he murmured, nodding to himself. “You wouldn’t have noticed anything odd because you don’t know us and we’ve been fighting almost nonstop since you got to us.”

Scott blinked at that, as did Steve.

“Okay?” Scott slowly said, sounding as puzzled as Steve felt, and he felt an absurd amount of relief at knowing he wasn’t the only man in the dark here. Clint’s bitter laugh made him flinch and since his balance was still messed up, he nearly fell out of the chair at the sudden move.

“Basically, Lang, that mind-raping bitch has been mind-controlling us for months,” Clint snarled, eyes blazing with an acidic hatred that was so powerful, it soured the air. It took a minute for his meaning to sink in, but when Steve understood, he was horrified and emphatically shook his head, because that was wrong. Wanda was a good kid and she would never do something like that! She’d been manipulated and coerced and lied to by HYRDA, just like Steve, but she would never hurt anyone on purpose, and especially not like that!

However, Sam nodded instantly in agreement and Scott hummed thoughtfully, offering a soft apology to Clint that made no sense to Steve. But he didn’t have the chance to respond at all before all three men were glaring furiously at him again, eyes dark, jaws clenched, and hands fisted on the table. One of the guards actually put a hand on Clint’s shoulder and it wasn’t until the man sank back into his seat that Steve realized he’d been getting up. Based on the violence glittering in his eyes, he would have gone after Steve, who still didn’t understand what was happening or why, and his confusion was finally giving way to his own anger.

How dare his team, the people he had successfully led in saving the world from so many threats, both alien and human, not just doubt him and cast aspersions on him, but also turn so viciously on one of their own?

The reminder made him twist to look again at Wanda, who was still on the floor, with several women guarding her. Outraged, Steve opened his mouth to demand proper medical treatment when an achingly familiar but completely unexpected voice shattered the tense silence of the room.

“You know, punk, it’s amazing what you can find out when you stop punching people and actually listen to them,” Bucky drawled, giving Steve the disappointed look that had filled so much of his youth, before war and the serum and the Red Skull had shattered his dreams and his life. “For instance, when the doc was checking me over, he asked some questions that seemed weird to me, but I’m not a doctor, so I answered. Then a . . . sorcerer, or some kind of magical person . . . came in and asked a few more questions before running his own tests, and when that was done, he told me it was highly likely that I was under some kind of magical influence, so they asked if they could take me to a clean room and see if they were right.”

Steve, completely unprepared to hear any of that, could only gawk at his best friend. His anger, which had burned so brightly just a minute ago, drowned beneath his confusion. It was an infuriatingly familiar feeling, one he suffered far too often in Tony’s presence, and the reminder made him scowl. More and more, he felt sure that this . . . this . . . whatever the hell was happening . . . was Tony’s doing. The Accords people didn’t know where he and his team were, and HYDRA wasn’t this subtle. Not that Tony was, either, as a rule, but when his ego and pettiness got out of hand, he would do anything to make himself feel better, to believe himself to be superior and get his way.

“And since they asked permission after explaining things, I agreed,” Bucky continued, eyes darkening with memory. “So we went to this shielded room and in about three, four minutes, I could think again. More importantly, I started remembering things. An enhanced photographic memory was something those bastards never considered, but they gave me one. And not only do I remember every mission they sent me on, and why, I also remember the faces and some of the names, if I heard them, of the people in the room with the chair.”

He stopped again and turned to Wanda. Even from the side, his seething hatred was obvious, and Steve was suddenly terrified that his best friend was about to murder a sweet, innocent girl who had done nothing wrong.

“And I remember the Scarlet Witch. She was one of the people they used to control me, to keep me compliant and my mind muddled so they could wipe it,” Bucky said, his voice colder than the Siberian wind . . . and Steve froze. No, that couldn’t be right. Wanda was a good kid. She’d been lied to and used, but Bucky was innocent. She would have known he was a good man, a righteous man, and refused to help HYDRA hurt him.

Oblivious to his frantic denials, Bucky kept talking. “They also used me to help train her skills in mentally subduing people and in drawing out the tiny details that most people don’t know they know. And by the time they were ready to move her on to the next phase, whatever that was, she was a fucking expert in mental torture. She could influence or even outright control people to do or think anything in about three hours, and she could find any detail she was looking for, if she knew ahead of time. My entire life was an open book to her and she never once hesitated to read it when she was mind-raping me,” he snarled, voice throbbing with rage, and Steve started hyperventilating.

That wasn’t . . . no, it couldn’t be true. It wasn’t true. Wanda was his hope and his best chance for healing Bucky and getting him added to the Avengers as Steve’s second. She—

“We figured out pretty quickly that she was influencing at least one of you, if not outright controlling you, but even if she wasn’t, she caused so much deliberate harm to me that I . . . and you brought all of us to Wakanda. So I claimed the right of vengeance under its laws,” his friend said, his voice now terrifyingly even, and the temperature in the room dropped at the palpable threat he radiated. “And once I recalled the details, it was easy: take away her hands, which are necessary for her to use her sick abilities, and add a suppression collar made by people who actually know what they’re doing, and her influence ended. It was already eroding, I imagine, but the stuff they used on the Raft was third-rate government crap. On the other hand, that initial dampening kept them from being hurt too much when we severed the link.”

The woman sitting next to T’Challa snorted softly in amusement at that, to Steve’s revulsion, and bile rose in his throat when Bucky gave her a horribly familiar carefree grin. “Pun intended,” he said, and Steve’s horror spiked when Clint laughed.

But he never had the chance to speak — not that he would have known what to say, other than outraged spluttering.

“Well, on behalf of us all, thank you,” Sam told Bucky, looking and sounding utterly sincere. Scott and Clint nodded in agreement, looking calm for the first time, and Bucky casually nodded back.

It took all of Steve’s control to keep from throwing up again.

“So . . . what now?” Scott said after a minute of silence, looking at T’Challa. The young king cleared his throat and said, “Well, to begin, we have some questions to ask you all, so can determine the extent of her influence. Zaniedia will place you under a truth spell, one that will compel answers, because what you think you know and what actually happened could well be different.”

All three men glowered in response to that, but none of them objected, and once again, Steve wasn’t given the chance.

The man in question, apparently some kind of sorcerer, came up to Sam first and held up a marble, which was softly glowing white but shimmered to a vibrant green when Sam hesitantly accepted it and held it carefully in his right hand. Before anyone could speak, the young woman Bucky seemed to be guarding jolted in her chair and exclaimed, “Wait! We’re waiting for—”

An orange portal opening in mid-air cut her off and Steve tensed, preparing to spring to his feet and protect his team. He’d forgotten that his strength and balance (and shield) were gone, but all thoughts of battle vanished when the circle lengthened and widened to a door and a portly, Asian man dressed in weird clothes that somehow suited him perfectly stepped through from what looked like a library. Everything hung in an unnatural stillness as the man stared at the room’s occupants, who were staring right back, before he took another step forward and the door-portal-thing closed behind him with a loud sucking sound that made everyone wince.

“Apologies for the noise,” the newcomer said, brushing a hand over his sleeve. “My apprentice hasn’t quite figured out the finer points of subtlety.”

Nobody knew how to respond to that, so a minute of awkward silence ensued before the man cleared his throat, turned to T’Challa and the woman, gave a half-bow that somehow conveyed respect, and said, “Your Majesty. Your Highness.”

A smile split the girl’s face, to Steve’s deepening confusion, and she chirped, “Please call me Shuri, Mr. Wong. And we appreciate your presence. Our magic users are highly skilled, but other than what Sergeant Barnes can share and the training videos Mr. Parker directed us to, they know nothing of how the witch’s powers work. So while we know these restraints will last for a time, there is no way to determine how long, and she is dangerous.”

“Indeed,” the Asian man agreed, turning to give Wanda a disdainful look that made Steve clench his jaw. But he was being so completely ignored that he simply didn’t know how break through the invisible wall he was trapped behind, and all he could do was watch in impotent fury as poor Wanda was bullied by people who didn’t know her, and his team had apparently been brainwashed to go along with it. And Bucky had to have been turned into the Winter Soldier again, because he would never have done any of this otherwise.

While Steve had been rendered helpless and mute, unable to move or speak a word of objection!

“You may call me Wong,” the sorcerer continued without looking away from Wanda, who was glaring at him with eyes so full of hate, a few sparks of red energy were trying to flicker to life around her. “None of that,” he chastised, waving a hand and nodding in satisfaction when a dark blue collar materialized around her throat. The effect was instantaneous: Wanda gasped, all the color draining from her face, and went limp against the floor again as a low hum of energy that Steve hadn’t noticed until that second just . . . just vanished.

That was weird; suddenly, the oppressive atmosphere was gone and the anger that the entire room was feeling faded a lot (as did Steve’s memory of Wanda’s injuries).

“Dude . . . that was her?” Scott rasped, his face green-tinted as he stared at Wanda with wide, appalled eyes.

Clint swallowed hard twice before he lost control of his stomach. Thankfully, the guard next to him had fast reflexes and managed to get a basin to him in time, but listening to his teammate being violently sick made Steve’s own stomach churn, and Sam heaved a few times as well, though neither of them succumbed. By the time Clint had recovered and was shakily sipping on a glass of water, this . . . Wong . . . person had turned his back to Wanda and was making his way to Sam, who was somehow still holding the marble.

“That is truly repulsive,” Wong remarked. His voice was steady and his face expressionless, but his eyes were black with a soul-deep disgust that made Steve flinch, even though the emotion was directed solely at Wanda. “But it confirms HYDRA’s training videos. Her . . . abilities . . . work like alcohol and override your conscious inhibitions. You aren’t saying or doing anything against your will; you just had no resistance to your various thoughts and desires.”

Dead silence followed this statement before Shuri spoke, her voice full of horror.

“You mean — you mean that the things these men did wasn’t coerced?” she demanded, rising from her seat before T’Challa caught her wrist and firmly urged her back down. His expression was full of the same revulsion that his sister and the sorcerer so clearly felt, but Steve was just confused. This time, he managed to croak out a feeble, “What?”, but it was drowned out by Clint’s loud demand and no one noticed his attempt to be included, to his mingled irritation and shameful gratitude.

Wong scowled as he obliged.

“Her abilities were bestowed by the Mind stone,” he began, lacing his fingers together in front of his chest and slowly beginning to pace around the table, drawing all eyes with him. “They aren’t natural and certainly not abilities she was born with. The explanation behind the hows and whys is highly complex and not something that’s understandable without a great deal of study. But unlike my Order, which utilizes natural abilities, hers are strictly artificial. And much like alcohol and mind-altering drugs, when she uses them on a susceptible mind, the person responds as if they were drunk or high. The longer the exposure, the more influence she has, though some minds are better protected than others,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

But something about that statement made Sam frown thoughtfully, while Scott and Clint just looked sick. Steve was still confused. “But ultimately, just like when someone drinks too much,” the sorcerer continued, “all she can do is force down your inhibitions. Rather like a person who loves to sing but knows they can’t do so in tune; they actively avoid karaoke while sober, but if they drink enough, they will gladly get up in public and subject the entire building to their lack of talent: it’s something they wish they could do, but their fear and inhibitions stop them. Apply enough artificial courage, however . . .”

He trailed off, his point made, and Steve was dismayed to see the sudden guilt that flashed across Clint’s face, and then Sam’s. Scott didn’t reflect that particular emotion, but he still looked devastated, which made no sense.

None of this made sense, actually, and Steve was annoyed and irritated and frustrated and just plain angry. He was Captain America, so he should be the one people were explaining themselves to, dammit! Instead, he was being so thoroughly ignored and dismissed that he half-wondered if his team even knew he was still there.

“So . . . how does that translate to what happened at the airport and . . . possibly with the Accords?” T’Challa asked after a few minutes of oppressive silence. Wong sighed heavily and dropped into the nearest chair, which put him directly opposite Steve — who he still hadn’t looked at or even acknowledged.

“To truly answer that, we’ll need to speak with her first,” Wong replied, voice full of distaste that made Steve clench his fists. “Unfortunately, that nifty little marble won’t work on her, because it’s meant for natural abilities. I, however, know a truth spell that will suffice, although she will have no filter. Which means you need to be prepared to get rather more information than you might want,” he warned the room at large, though his eyes never left Wanda, and his obvious disgust raised Steve’s hackles. He still couldn’t believe that everyone was just picking on poor Wanda. She was a good kid who’d been misguided, just like Steve and Nat and even Clint, and they weren’t even trying to give her a chance to defend herself!

Well, it was past time for him to speak up and demand that they start treating her with respect.

He cleared his throat, fully expecting to get the room’s attention, and was thus unprepared to be utterly ignored.

“So let her speak,” T’Challa intoned, giving Wanda the same nasty look as Wong and once again making Steve bristle, although this time it was overshadowed by his indignation at being ignored. It was like being in a room full of Tony Starks, and Steve simply couldn’t believe how childishly they were all acting — though their behavior told him that Tony was somehow involved. He was the only one who would dare to treat Steve so disrespectfully, and as much as he hated to admit it, Steve had seen Tony’s charisma too many times and knew that he could easily sway people to his side and was a master at twisting the truth.

When he didn’t outright lie, that is.

“Very well,” Wong answered, pulling Steve back to the present, and he frowned when the man once again cautioned, “But again, you must be prepared for what you might hear. I doubt it will be pleasant because she will not be able to lie or even prevaricate.”

Despite the uncomfortable expectations this statement evoked, no one tried to object, not even Steve, who didn’t realize that he’d just squandered his best chance of being heard, so Wong sighed again and made a series of weird hand motions that ended with a pale purple glow encompassing Wanda’s entire body. Steve tensed to protest, not knowing what to expect, but nothing happened and he blew out a surprised breath, wasting his last chance to speak.

“What is your full legal name, date of birth, and age?”

Startled, Steve looked up sharply, trying to figure out what he was doing. What did Wanda’s personal information have to do with things?

“Wanda Iryna Maximoff. February 10^th, 1989. I am 27 years old,” she replied, sounding a little confused, and Steve was right there with her. Why did this matter?

“Lie to me: are you male?” Wong commanded and they all watched her try desperately to obey, only for the purple glow to darken so much, it was no longer see-through, and her teeth were clenched as she fought to comply. But in the end, she was unable to do so and Wong nodded, looking grimly satisfied when she snarled, "No."

“So, not a child and unable to lie,” he said very pointedly, and Steve bristled again. Before he could make any kind of reply to that, Wong took a deep breath and focused his full attention on her, asking, “What specifically did you do to Clint Barton?” His voice was strong and authoritative and she didn’t hesitate to answer. From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Clint flinch and hunker in on himself, and frowned. He still didn’t understand what Wanda was being accused of. But he understood even less why his team was so affected by it.

In all the movies and games and books, people under a truth spell always speak in a monotone, emotionless and with no inflection, just a simple recitation of the facts.

In reality? That wasn’t remotely how it worked.

And Steve Rogers and his entire team had their world utterly, totally, completely decimated.

“After Pietro was murdered, I amplified his existing guilt about neglecting his family for his work and diverted it from his children to me. He would protect me and shield me from anyone and anything. I backed off when he retired, though; he still cared about me and I maintained the link to feed those feelings, but I didn’t want to move to some farm in the middle of nowhere,” she explained, sounding so shockingly normal that Steve stopped trying to fight for a minute. He couldn’t fight. All he could do was listen and try desperately to deny the utter wrongness of what he was hearing.

“I tried to convince him to kill Stark for me as well, but he doesn’t hate him enough. He really doesn’t like him,” she continued, disgruntled now, and Clint moaned low in his throat, burying his hands in his hair as he hunched over the table. “Actually, he loathes him and is unbelievably jealous of his money and looks and power and intelligence. It was absurdly easy to feed those feelings, make him push Stark away and blame him for everything wrong in his life.” She stopped for a second and then laughed — and it was so chilling that Steve’s blood iced over for the second time in his life.

“That was so much more successful than I dreamed,” she continued, sounding matter-of-fact now, and Steve’s stomach churned as his cherished illusions began to crack. “And it didn’t take long for the cycle to start feeding itself — but for reasons I do not understand, he doesn’t actually hate him. And without those negative feelings, and without getting a direct order or being under immediate threat, he won’t kill. I made him think of me like a daughter, but he wouldn’t kill Stark for me because he got free stuff from him and that mattered more than he felt for me.”

She whined that last sentence, sounding exactly like the child Steve had always thought her to be . . . and his stomach lurched dangerously. Still no one noticed, but this time, Steve was thankful for it. The last thing he needed was people seeing him as weak.

“And the Accords? No, wait. What led to the events at Leipzig and what happened during the fight?” T’Challa asked, his voice dark and dangerous, and Steve swallowed hard. He’d thought that the man had come to understand how bad the Accords were, how wrong, because he’d understood that Bucky was innocent but still being hunted by the corrupt governments trying to control the Avengers, so hearing him sound so angry at Wanda for doing the right thing and opposing them was an unpleasant surprise.

Naturally, he was shocked that Wanda had done something to Clint, but then, Wong had said she couldn’t do anything against a person’s will. So Clint had thought of her as a daughter first, and since Tony had stolen her whole family from her, even if it had been an accident, she’d needed someone to step into the role. Clint was the logical choice.

And she hadn’t hurt him, so Steve could not understand why everyone else looked so appalled.

“I don’t know the details. Whatever Steve decided was fine,” she replied, now sounding bored, and everyone around Steve sucked in harsh breaths. “I was okay with Vision but when Clint came to get me, well . . . I hesitated because Steve protects me, but I was living off Stark without having to deal with him and I had Vis. But then he had to go and tell me that Stark wanted me to stay there and be locked up. So I had to go. Vision shouldn’t have tried to stop me, especially since it was for Stark. Then I tried again to kill him, but Stark is worse than a cockroach. No matter what I hit him with, he just gets back up. And I cannot get into his mind,” she seethed, clenching her jaw and glaring at nothing. “I couldn’t get Clint to do it, either, because Stark and his minions were holding back and he wouldn’t hurt his partner, even though she was fighting against him. Against me.”

A low sound, like something from a wounded animal, came from Clint and Steve flinched, watching with wide eyes as Sam tried to put a consoling hand on his shoulder and was viciously rebuffed. Then Wanda kept going and everyone just . . . stopped.

“When I realized that Steve and the people loyal to him were confronting Stark and I could finally kill him, I pushed on my link with Clint and . . . it’s hard to describe. I basically — I basically amplified his loyalty to me and to Steve and dampened everything else. He couldn’t do anything but protect me and Steve.”

Stunned, Steve just stared at Wanda, unable to believe what he’d just heard, how normal she sounded, even as Clint lunged for a trashcan. Thanks to the Wakandan sorcerer, whose name Steve hadn’t heard, he made it, but none of them could bring themselves to watch the man grapple with his obvious anguish and horrified, guilt-fueled rage at a betrayal Steve was unable to see. Instead, they all sat in a deeply uncomfortable silence and no one even tried to meet anyone else’s eyes. After several minutes of quiet, broken only by Clint’s gasps and choked sobs, the girl — Shari? Shuni? Whatever — silently ordered one of the guards to take a pitcher of water to him. He glared furiously at it when the woman set it in front of him, but after just a few seconds, he picked it up with shaking hands and drained it dry, completely ignoring the offered glass. It was alarming and more than a little rude, but his hands weren’t shaking when he put the container back on the table.

Then he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, and fixed Wanda with the unwavering stare that made him so good at his job. Any reassurance Steve might have taken from this seeming return to normal was wiped away when he glimpsed the black rage boiling in those blue eyes.

Steve was appalled at this lack of courtesy and manners, but nobody else blinked, much less seemed to mind, and he was still too busy trying to work through what he’d heard to give it any more thought.

“And Sam Wilson? Please explain what you did to him while you were at Leipzig.”

She scoffed in response, making Sam frown, and said, “Nothing, really. He doesn’t have any personal feelings towards me, other than what Steve says. But Steve wants to protect me, like a good leader, and Sam does whatever Steve says, so he protected me too. But I couldn’t get him to kill Stark either, despite everything. He’s just like Clint; he resents Stark but doesn’t hate him and thinks that no one else can keep his wings in shape and upgraded. He likes living on a rich white man’s dime and he likes being a hero, so I was never going to get past that. But then at the airport, I finally realized that he honestly believes that Steve is the perfect soldier and his battle plans are always perfect and his opinion actually means something, so I just ramped that up.”

Stunned, Steve looked at Sam and scowled when he saw that his friend was shaking and sweating. He looked so bad that Steve tried to get up and go to him, but another wave of weakness kept him in his chair and once again, he cursed whatever was leaving him so weak and off-balance.

Wanda offered nothing else after that last sentence, so after a very tense minute, T’Challa cleared his throat and said, “What do you mean by ‘ramped it up’?” and she grinned.

It was the most disturbing thing Steve had ever seen. Wanda was a good kid! Why was she confessing to things she hadn’t done to cause harm?

Sam still looked horrified, but behind that was rage so deep, Steve involuntarily flinched, feeling very hurt. He just didn’t understand: Sam had always been loyal to Steve, and Wanda couldn’t have forced it, because he and Nat had met Sam long before they’d found Wanda.

“I mean I ramped it up,” she explained, looking pleased with herself. “I made his desire to impress Steve the most important thing in his mind. He couldn’t do anything else. Hurting Stark’s lapdog was a plus, because Steve doesn’t like him either, but protecting Steve and making him proud” — she sneered that, which just made Steve more confused and Sam more furious — “was the only thing he could actively do. And it worked. He protected Steve and that was fine, because I knew he’d never let me be taken away. I didn’t think we’d get caught, but I should have expected that Stark would stoop to torturing me. Still, Steve came to get me, like I knew he would.”

A beatific smile lifted her lips and Steve thought he would be sick. In all the chaos, he’d forgotten that he’d just rescued his team from the Raft, where Wanda had been collared like an — like an animal. And for what? The crime of believing in Steve and following him in doing the right thing in opposing the Accords? Wanda was a good kid and she tried so hard, but they couldn’t save everyone, and she wasn’t a soldier like Steve and Sam. And it was heartwarming to know that she trusted Steve to protect her.

All she’d done was help Steve’s team guard his back, so they could help the people who were counting on the Avengers to keep them safe. There was no reason to target her for doing her job and watching out for her Team Leader.

No one else seemed to understand that, though, and the hostility in the room was palpable. Some of the guards were standing behind Clint and Sam, holding them firmly by the shoulders as they glared at poor Wanda with unwarranted, misplaced anger. The only person who held any responsibility here was Tony, because he was the one who needed oversight. He couldn’t control himself, so he needed someone else to do it and while it should rightly have been Steve, as the head of the Avengers, Tony would never allow that. He refused to understand or accept that Steve knew best when it came to his team and how to run it, so he’d betrayed them all in an effort to outrun his guilt and shift it to people who were corrupt and couldn’t be trusted.

“Indeed,” Wong said softly, looking a little rattled, and then he took a deep breath through his nose and turned away from Wanda. His expression never changed, but his gaze met Steve’s and he suddenly felt as though he was being judged and found wanting.

It was a look Steve had seen too many times from Tony and his people, which only made sense. This man Wong was likely here at Tony’s behest, or he wouldn’t be harassing poor Wanda like this, so naturally he was biased against her. And against Steve as well. Tony had never accepted Steve’s position and authority as the head of the Avengers, and he had never been comfortable with Wanda, but then, he’d never accepted his responsibility in the deaths of her parents and brother. So of course, he would take any chance he could to demonize her so he could lessen his own guilt.

A heavy sigh made him look up at Wong, who had turned his attention back to Wanda. His face was still inscrutable, but something in the set of his mouth made Steve tense. But that nagging, persistent weakness kept him in his chair and it also kept him from asserting his authority and speaking in Wanda’s defense, or even asking just what, exactly, was going on here.

“What did you do to Scott Lang?” Shuri asked, making him blink in surprise. What did the girl mean about Scott? He and Wanda didn’t know each other at all, so that question made no sense. Wh—

“Nothing much,” Wanda replied complacently, and Steve blinked, feeling bewildered. What c—

“He distrusts Stark to an unusual extreme, so I fed that and made him do anything he could to hurt Stark. He wouldn’t kill him directly, because he doesn’t hate him, but he could and would hurt him if given the chance. I just . . . made sure he took advantage of any opportunity. And of course, he also has a massive crush on Captain America and would do anything to impress him. So making Scott hurt Stark to stop him also impressed Steve, which was all he wanted. It was easy.”

Scott gave a choked gurgle before violently gagging over the side of his chair. He was bone-white and shaking and Steve frowned. Scott, or rather his suit, had those abilities already, meaning he hadn’t done anything unusual, so what was the problem? Steve had needed him to stop Tony and give Steve and Bucky time to get away, and he’d done exactly that. No one had been hurt, so what was the issue? Why was Scott reacting so badly?

“Of course,” T’Challa rumbled, looking almost homicidal, and Wong blinked in surprise before sinking back in his chair and allowing the king to take the lead. “And Mr. Rogers? What did you do to him?”

Despite himself, Steve leaned closer to the table, only to reel back in horror when Wanda giggled and chirped, “Nothing. I never needed to. He was so desperate to believe me that he excused and justified everything, even my time training on the Winter Soldier, because it let him have his fantasy of another desperate kid looking for the chance to be a hero for their country, but who didn’t lose his whole life in the process.”

Her voice suddenly took on a sarcastic edge that made Steve cringe when she sneered, “Because somehow, losing my whole family wasn’t the same as him losing his best friend and his team of Howlies and the woman he wanted because she’s the only one who ever paid him attention before the serum. In his mind, my losses weren’t as bad as his, but that fed into the delusion that he could make my story have the happy ending that he didn’t get . . . until he finally understood that I have mind powers and then his new wish was getting Bucky back, because I could use my powers and get rid of the Winter Soldier. That made him even more determined to add me to the team and push Stark out, so that way, he’d never know the truth. That’s all Steve really cares about now. He hates this time because he doesn’t understand it and he doesn’t want to, and he despises the fact that Stark is more important than him in the world’s eyes, even though they hate him just as much as they love him. But if he can just get Bucky back, nothing else will matter. And the people will love him more when they see how important Bucky is, and how good Steve is with his best friend. They’ll realize that Captain America is their savior and push everyone aside for him.”

She paused to take a breath while Steve wheezed, unable to comprehend what he’d just heard. She — but he, and Bucky, and, and, but — no, this wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right, Wanda had to have misunderstood what they were asking her, there was no way—

“So I had to keep up the ‘kid’ act when he was around, because that’s what he needed me to be so he could play out his dream of guiding the misguided girl who was lied to and be the big hero again, but that’s it. Steve didn’t need anything else to be on my side,” she explained in that matter-of-fact voice that Steve loathed, because it wasn’t true. It wasn’t, none of it, and he couldn’t stand listening to her talk like it was. This was a trick, set in motion by Tony to punish them for standing up against corruption, and he would make the others see that.

He had to.

Only Wanda didn’t stop. With every word she said, Steve’s world cracked a little more.

“Nat did it, too; she made sure he saw a slightly-uncertain woman who needed a strong man to keep her safe, but it worked. Most of the time, he ended up doing what she wanted, he just thought it was his idea. She doesn’t quite trust me, but she doesn’t trust anyone, so as long I showed her what she wanted to see, I was safe. I watched her and learned to project the right personality and it worked like a dream: Steve got rid of Stark for me but kept his money and home and equipment and I could do whatever I wanted. It was perfect . . . until the world decided they needed to collar him the way Stark did me. And since Steve is incapable of being subtle, here we are.” Disgust was clear in her voice and everyone blinked in response, more than a little surprised at the abrupt change in her opinion.

Oblivious to the unexpected reaction she’d caused, Wanda kept talking. “The hilarious part is that if Stark hadn’t trusted him so much, Steve wouldn’t have gotten away with any of it. He wouldn’t have known that Barnes killed his parents and that Steve and Nat knew about it, but if he’d bothered to look, he would have known Steve was hiding something big about him. It was so incredibly obvious, but I guess he didn’t want to know. And even though I tried to influence Stark so many times, I never could. His mind is as stubborn as he is,” she snarled, sounding absolutely vicious suddenly, and Steve gulped, unable to reconcile the sweet, innocent kid he knew with the spiteful woman he was hearing now. “I cannot figure out how he did it, but no matter how hard I tried or what other suggestions I made, I couldn’t make a dent after I sparked that vision in the bunker. He somehow discovered how to block me after that.”

“WHAT?!”

That enraged roar came from Clint and Steve watched in wide-eyed astonishment as he broke free of the women holding him in place and lunged for Wanda. He got halfway around the table before they stopped his forward motion — but nothing could stop the torrent of words.

“YOU FUCKING MESSED WITH STARK’S MIND AT THE BEGINNING? YOU MADE HIM GO CRAZY AND MAKE THAT FUCKING INSANE ROBOT?! THAT WAS YOU?!”

Completely unruffled, Wanda said, “Of course. Pietro wanted to kill him, but I wanted him to suffer. So I touched the fear that was foremost in his thoughts and made it stronger. I had no idea the idiot would try to destroy the world, though I should have. He destroys everything he touches,” she hissed petulantly, while Steve reeled back in frantic denial.

No. No, it wasn’t true. Tony had made ULTRON because he was arrogant and egotistical and kept secrets because he knew he couldn’t be trusted. Wanda hadn’t done it, she hadn’t done anything to make Tony do something stupid. It wasn’t possible, no matter what evidence he’d tried to show Steve that something had messed with his mind, because Tony always deflected blame and denied guilt. And he’d resented Wanda from the start, because she was a better person than Tony could ever dream of becoming.

He’d fallen so far, he was making her say these things now. They had no proof that this supposed sorcerer had cast a truth spell, if there was such a thing. But Tony had a vested interest in making Wanda look bad, and he’d proven many times that he had no qualms and no morals about getting what he wanted.

“Hold on,” Scott whispered, his voice shattering the deadly silence that was smothering the room. “Did you just say that Barnes killed Stark’s parents and Steve knew . . . and didn’t tell him?”

It sounded really bad, but Scott didn’t have all the details and Steve cleared his throat, trying to figure out the best way to explain things. Once again, he never got the chance.

“Not quite,” Bucky replied, sounding . . . guilty? That didn’t make sense. It wasn’t him, it was HYDRA. “It was my hands, yes, but I did it as the Winter Soldier and under HYDRA’s orders. But Stark . . . God, I’ll never forgive myself. The look on his face . . . and I was too out of it and too afraid of myself to think anything through, much less pull back. He punched Steve and I reacted on instinct. It was just for the wrong person. Even Pierce wouldn’t have done what Steve did to Stark.”

Before Steve could even begin to process that, T’Challa came to his feet in a sharp movement, his face grim.

“Enough,” he commanded, nodding when Bucky instantly fell silent, and Steve almost choked on his relief. “We’re done for now. I—”

“No way!” Scott cried, looking mutinous, with Sam and Clint nodding vigorously. He didn’t back down at the foreboding look the king gave him, which earned him an appraising look from the girl, instead barreling forward. “We deserve to know the truth about what happened and why a—”

“Yes, you do,” the other man replied calmly, holding out both hands in a calming manner when all three members of Steve’s team bristled in response to the ‘but’ that was so clearly coming. “But not here or now. That’s a different discussion and it needs to be had when everyone has had a chance to rest and clean up and calm down a bit. Including me,” he said in direct response to Clint’s soft, frustrated growl. “I shouldn’t have allowed this to go as far as it did, but we needed to determine some things that only she could tell us.”

His contempt was palpable and Steve scowled, once again reminded that Wanda was the victim here, and still being treated like a criminal. And what was Bucky thinking, taking responsibility for the things the Winter Soldier had done? It wasn’t his fault, and Steve had gone to extraordinary lengths to prove that and show the world that Bucky was innocent and couldn’t be punished for crimes he hadn’t committed, the way the corrupt Accords governments wanted. Everything Steve had done had been to keep Bucky free and safe and at his side, and Buck knew that! So for him to risk that . . . well, clearly he was under some kind of mind control or had been triggered back into the Winter Soldier, either by T’Challa or Tony.

Probably Tony. He was angry and petty and lashing out like he always did, and what better way to hurt Steve than take his best friend away again? Of course, this was extreme even for Tony, but he hated being wrong. He’d already proved that he would destroy the world before he’d admit it, and since he’d lost the fight he’d forced Steve into, this was the only way he could win: by turning Bucky against Steve and claiming fake responsibility. There was no other explanation for what Bucky had said and done.

There wasn’t.

Oblivious to Steve’s realizations, T’Challa kept speaking. “I should have done this questioning privately, but once we realized just how deeply she’d gotten her claws into you, we needed to ascertain the damage. And it wouldn’t have been right to keep two of you in the dark. But all future interrogations will be done properly and legally. Ah!” he warned when Clint looked perilously close to exploding. “You will have the chance to ask questions. I guarantee that for all of you. But you — we — will have to wait until we get word about how the UN and the Accords Council wants to proceed. Until then, I ask that you accompany my people to your quarters and remain there until we do hear back. It shouldn’t take longer than three or four days,” he placated them on seeing the three unhappy scowls that formed in response.

Steve, however, was horrified. The UN? The Accords? T’Challa wanted to turn them over to the very corrupt governments that Steve had already exposed?

Betrayed.

He had been betrayed by everyone he’d ever trusted, people he had risked everything to save and protect.

Fury burned hot and molten in his blood and Steve lunged to his feet, his mind empty of everything but the desire for vengeance.

The world would regret turning against Captain America. He had fought and bled and given his entire life for people who had used him, deceived him, and hurt him, and now that his usefulness to them was gone, they were going to throw him to the wolves?

Well, Steve wasn’t going to allow that. He was going to show them all that his hands were the safest. His whole life, everything he’d done, he’d done to protect them all, and he deserved their respect and admiration and trust.

His second step caused a massive pull that made him stumble into the table as his vision went cloudy.

And instead of hearing Bucky soothing him or trying to bring him back from the encroaching darkness, all Steve heard was his own rattling breaths and all he felt was the hard, unforgiving tile he was lying on for some reason.

And his dreams were haunted by the absence of warmth.

~~~

When he finally came mostly back to himself, though without his shield or his strength, the world had changed forever.

Sam, Clint, and Scott had all been tried, convicted, and sentenced for crimes that Steve would never understand. They had been absolved of their actions at Leipzig, given the fact that Wanda had manipulated all of them and eliminated their ability to use their own free will, but Scott had still violated his parole and the world’s governments, once again proving they were corrupted, had decreed that Sam and Clint had broken other laws in multiple countries and gone after both men with a vicious intensity that only confirmed Steve’s conviction that governments and their agencies couldn’t be trusted. They punished his team for what happened in Lagos, Bucharest, Berlin, DC . . . because they didn’t understand that you couldn’t save everyone. But you still had to try, even when bad choices were the only options available.

Corruption was rampant among the people in charge of their show trials, though, and so Steve wasn’t surprised when no one was willing to listen to reason or make any kind of allowance for their efforts to help, to fix things, to protect people. He was appalled at how little empathy they were shown, but what utterly bewildered him was the lack of protest Sam, Clint, and Scott put up. Not a single one of them offered even a token argument against the charges, nor did they object to the unnecessarily harsh sentences.

Steve just couldn’t understand it. They’d been protecting people, stopping HYDRA, rescuing Bucky, opposing corruption . . . everything they’d done was for good, but they were all being punished like they were the same criminals they’d fought so hard to capture and bring to justice!

Wanda’s trial was horrendous. They accused the poor girl of war crimes, crimes against humanity, murder, attempted murder, theft, property damage, mental manipulation, mental assault, participating in slavery . . . he didn’t even know what half of the charges meant, so there was no way Wanda did. But they put her back in that awful collar, with matching bands circling the stumps of her wrists. Steve’s anger flared at the sight of her handless arms, and he again mentally raged at the fact all of his demands to see both Wanda and Bucky had been refused. He still didn’t know why his friend had done that to Wanda, or why he didn’t try to get back to Steve’s side once he realized that his ‘punk’ couldn’t come to him.

He refused to hear that Bucky had been given the option of seeing and speaking to Steve several times — and had immediately, firmly, with no doubt at all, refused. Not only did he not want to see what his old friend had become, he knew it would do no good. Regardless of his size, Steve Rogers was a stubborn punk who literally could not understand when he was wrong. Thus, there was no reason for him to try explaining where he’d screwed up and why, much less unload his anger. It would either fall on deaf ears or get turned into Bucky somehow being coerced against his will.

Having no desire to brain himself against a brick wall, James ‘Bucky’ Barnes simply walked away from Steve Rogers and never looked back.

Wanda, though . . . under a truth spell, she talked.

(about why and when and how she'd volunteered for HYRDA, and her training after the success of their experiments)

And she talked.

(about ULTRON, and the sceptre, and how she'd deliberately targeted Tony in her attempt to get revenge for something he hadn't done. And how Steve had believed every word she'd said because he was lying to Stark and needed an excuse, but also because he was desperate for a redemption story he could control)

And she talked.

(about Lagos, and how Steve didn't realize she didn't care about the damage she'd done because he didn't care beyond the abstract, and how she'd been counting on that very fact to stay out of trouble)

Steve never would get a satisfactory answer to any of his questions, especially after Wanda was condemned to death and executed twelve hours later, in the neutral country of Switzerland.

His own trial started an hour after her death was verified. Naturally, he wasn’t absolved of anything, and if that weren’t bad enough, he was accused of crimes that weren’t real. He’d never tried to kill Tony, and neither had Thor. He certainly hadn’t encouraged his alien teammate to hurt Tony, but he couldn’t deny that Thor’s anger was justified, and his reaction was perfectly reasonable, especially given his warrior upbringing. And Wanda had been right when she warned him that Tony was making another murderbot. It wasn’t Steve’s fault that the man had refused to stop and step aside and let someone more qualified handle things. Steve had been forced to physically stop Tony.

Siberia . . . Tony had been trying to kill Bucky, who was innocent. Steve had told him to stop and he hadn’t, so again, Captain America had no choice but to put Iron Man down. It was unfortunate, truly, but Tony should have stopped. Steve had been right about the Accords, he’d been right about Ross, but Tony’s ego wouldn’t let him admit that, and while learning the truth of his parents’ deaths had been ugly, it didn’t justify taking his misplaced anger out on Bucky. He was innocent and Tony should have known that.

As for their absurd claims of treason, he just scoffed. He’d had to stop HYDRA and there hadn’t been another way. Sure, Tony probably could have separated SHIELD from HYDRA, but it was Steve’s mission and HYDRA had been his responsibility from the beginning. He wasn’t about to let anyone, especially Tony Stark, take that away from him. And, given that Tony had created ULTRON, it was obviously for the best that Steve hadn’t called him to help with the helicarriers, either. God only knew what damage the man would have done while showboating and making sure everyone knew he was the one who’d stopped HYDRA and saved the world.

But the corruption of the Accords had spread and infected everything, so all the good things he and his team had done to help, to fix things and protect people, was twisted to make them appear to be criminals instead of heroes. He wasn’t remotely surprised at Tony’s testimony, or James Rhodes’, and he’d never quite trusted Vision, but he didn’t know who Helen Cho was, and they brought in several people who were supposedly from Bucharest and Lagos. Pepper Potts, however, was unexpected, mostly because he didn’t understand why she was there. She was Tony’s secretary, his Girl Friday . . . and besides, she and Tony broke up every few weeks, so it wasn’t like she had true, deep feelings for the man, not the way Steve did for Peggy. He couldn’t begin to see why she hated him so much, but oh, she did.

And she spared him nothing. Videos, audio files, medical records . . . she had an abundance of so-called evidence that made Steve look bad, but it was all taken out of context. Naturally, his objections were ignored, and he gritted his teeth. It didn’t matter. He was Captain America. He was the personification of Truth and Right, and he would prevail. They could tell all the lies they wanted, but eventually, their house of cards would fall.

And Steve would be standing tall and proud and waiting when it did.

Lost in his own reality, he never processed the death sentence he received, both for treason and for international terrorism. He didn’t know that the legend of Captain America would be destroyed in a week and reduced to a cautionary myth within a year.

Steve Rogers ceased to exist on September 17, 2017.

The world took a deep, cleansing breath.

And felt that much safer.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Perspective

Pride is a curious thing.

It is one of the most dangerous, devastating emotions in the universe, and yet, it is essential for strong and stable health: mental, emotional, and physical. It is also one of the most difficult things for a person to learn to balance, and it has come before many a fall.

Discovering when to listen to his pride and when to set it aside was a lesson that Peter Parker badly needed to learn, and, through some strange quirk of nature (or, more likely, karma having a sadistic laugh at everyone’s expense), teaching it fell on the head of one James Rupert Rhodes.

And by ‘fell’, he meant ‘landed like the proverbial ton of bricks’, weight and all. He even got the gritty, ashy taste of broken rock choking the air around him and clogging his throat.

But back to Peter.

He’d been adopted by Tony just over three months ago, after May lost a short but brutal battle with meningitis, and the adjustment period had been . . . rough. Full of landmines. And ongoing.

Had he mentioned the landmines?

This time, the explosion was caused by money. Rhodes had just witnessed Peter throwing a more-than-halfway hysterical mini-tantrum at having spent the afternoon shopping with Tony, who was Seriously Not Happy about being forced to deal with Rogers and his team. Worse, they were being housed at the Compound while the Accords negotiations dragged on. And on. And on.

Rhodes had thought the military was bad when it came to paperwork — and it was, don’t get him wrong — but the UN had it beat, hands down. In other circumstances, it would be impressive. Right now, however, it was irritating Tony (and the rest of the enhanced people who already supported the Accords) to no end, because he’d had all this crap hashed out months ago, which meant it shouldn’t have been a problem.

However, the entire world had discovered something in the last month (which had both validated Tony and put the entire world in an awkward position he spitefully maintained it deserved; Rhodes had to agree) that threw a monkey wrench into everything: Steve Rogers was stubborn to an absurd degree and he was never wrong. He was also ridiculously argumentative. Anything he didn’t like, he argued against. Anything he didn’t understand, he argued with.

He didn’t like Tony Stark. And he understood nothing of modern world politics, geopolitics, or international anything. For that matter, he didn’t even understand US politics.

To top that joyous lack of productivity off, due to the aforementioned ‘never wrong’, Steve refused to acknowledge his actions — any of them, though Siberia had its own special place in hell — and Tony was edgy at the knowledge that his son, who he was protective of to a degree that warmed the hearts of his family, was in such close proximity to a group of people who had proven they had no qualms about hurting him to get what they wanted.

The catalyst for this seemingly-innocuous shopping trip, however, was Steve’s aggressive movement toward Tony when — for the third time that meeting — he’d held firm about the need for pre- and post-mission reports . . . the ones that every other member of every team of enhanced had either insisted on or accepted without qualm. Worldwide.

Tony’s team of personal guards, rescued from the massacre that was the SHIELD data dump, had felt compelled to put themselves between Rogers and Tony before anyone could blink, visibly startling the Rogues. Then, holding true to form, Rogers had proven both stubborn and stupid enough to try shoving past them, intent on forcing Tony to ‘see reason’.

And earned himself a fractured jaw courtesy of the prosthetic arm Tony had made for one of the agents after the Iron Legion rescued him from the undercover mission that Rogers and Romanova had so callously blown.

Tony’s resultant agitation at Rogers’ arrogant hubris and show of violence, enhanced by his need to ensure his people were safe and taken care of had, in this case, manifested itself in a shopping trip for Peter, who admittedly needed clothes that were more appropriate for his new station as Tony Stark’s son and heir. He also needed lessons on how to move in those new circles, but that was a different discussion entirely.

In Peter’s defense, he had no real way of knowing why spending such a huge waste of money (in his mind) on something as mundane as clothes was actually necessary, as it didn’t occur to Tony to explain since he’d grown up in this lifestyle. Likewise with Pepper, who’d spent two decades with money and seven years and counting as CEO of Stark Industries.

So when Rhodes inadvertently saw the young man having a truly epic shitfit about not just the sheer amount of clothes, but the cost, he sighed and prepared to throw himself on his sword.

After all, he’d been in the same boat thirty years ago. It was amazing sometimes, how little things changed.

And money was the biggest thing that never changed.

A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder and he actually jumped. It took all his control to keep from screaming like a small child, though seeing Hope van Dyne’s amused smile when he wobbled after the landing quickly shifted the feeling to a lot of confusion, four or five smidges of irritation, and a soupçon of relief.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he demanded, ignoring the fact that his voice was still half-an-octave too high. Thankfully for his ego, Hope pretended not to notice either and rolled her eyes.

“The stork brought me,” she replied sarcastically. “I came to see if Tony had settled down any, but given Peter’s little apoplexy, I’m gonna go with ‘no’.”

Rhodes sighed and slumped against the wall, rubbing his forehead. “No, he hasn’t. And I can’t blame him. That prick Rogers pushes his button on a good day, but Tony hasn’t had many of those since these negotiations started. That being said,” he added, a smile lifting his lips, “it was worth it to see Malcolm lay him out.”

“That was awesome,” Hope agreed, her satisfied smile matching Rhodes’, but his mirth quickly faded to a dark, vindictive protectiveness when he remembered why the man had needed to punch Rogers in the face.

“If Rogers ever gets that aggressive with Tony again, I’m blasting him in the groin with a repulsor,” he informed her, feeling his face tighten with an unresolved anger that started with Palladium poisoning and Natasha Backstabbing Romanova and ended with Steve Fucking Rogers sauntering back into the compound —Tony’s compound — like he hadn’t committed treason or become an international terrorist.

Oh, and he’d also lied to Rhodes’ best friend, stolen from him, used him, abused him, and nearly killed him.

“Good,” Hope replied, her eyes dark with her own protective anger. Despite Hank’s . . . unhappiness . . . she and Tony had gotten along like a house on fire once they’d commiserated about their fathers being assholes before geeking out over Firefly, and Hope had become something of a sister to him. “So, why is Peter flipping out?”

The sudden change in topic made Rhodes blink and he could only stare in confusion for a bit, until the tiny smirk curving her mouth jarred his brain back to working order.

Damn woman, always trying to knock him off-balance.

(damn woman, always succeeding)

Still, being Tony Stark’s best friend for thirty-plus years, on top of being an Air Force officer and Pepper Potts’ confidante (apparently, he wasn’t nearly as bitchy as women, but still somehow mostly understood them. He didn’t quite get how that worked, but whatever), had rendered him immune to all surprises and announcements for anything less than ‘Pepper is pregnant’ (and yes, he was including ‘aliens are attacking’, because . . . well, duh). So his only response was a rueful grin, paired with the succinct explanation of, “The kid is upset because Tony finally took him clothes shopping for real and — well, you know Tony.”

Hope did know Tony, but more importantly, she was from the same world, which meant she could explain the intricacies of that world to Peter, seeing as he now lived in it.

Rhodes, on the other hand, was intimately familiar with Peter’s side of the equation, having grown up in similar circumstances: poor. He’d had two sisters, but he’d also had two working parents, at least until shortly after his 13^th birthday, when a car wreck had ended his mother’s career as a professional seamstress. Luckily, his dad’s income had been enough, albeit barely, though he’d been killed in a construction accident shortly after Rhodes started his second year of college. So while their family never had anything expensive and not a whole lot of new things, other than shoes, they’d scraped by and never lacked for any of the basics and all three kids had earned a lot of honors and awards and trips in junior high and high school.

But every second of it had been done using their own blood, sweat, tears, and iron will.

He was extremely well acquainted with the shame of wearing threadbare clothes for weeks after they were more ‘bare’ than ‘thread’, and of shopping in thrift shops for stuff that didn’t really fit but at least only had two holes instead of twelve. He knew how demoralizing it was to miss out on field trips and parties and new toys. It was impossible to ignore the sneering condescension when you got anything for free, whether it was food or new socks for your birthday. And there were no words to describe the horror of showing up in the cast-off clothes of someone you knew.

Yeah. James Rhodes knew exactly how Peter Parker felt about wealth, and why he was so upset now.

After all, Rhodes had shared that mindset until he’d gone to MIT. But it wasn’t until he got saddled with a mouthy, breathtakingly brilliant genius as a roommate, one who was completely unprepared for life, that he’d learned both the values and the pitfalls of having money. Tony being a Stark meant he had it in spades, something he wasn’t ashamed of, but it was simply a sad fact of life that most people wanted to get close to him so they could siphon off some of that wealth for themselves. They still did now, of course, but in college, Tony had been painfully young and naïve, despite Howard’s heavy-handed attempts to teach him otherwise. It was, Rhodes grudgingly admitted, one of the few useful parental things the bastard had tried to do, but as usual, he’d done it so badly that his son and heir had ignored every single thing he should have learned.

Of course, Tony was also in full-on rebellion mode, having learned that nothing would earn him Howard’s approval, so he did the exact opposite just because he figured that since he was going to get in trouble either way, he might as well earn it. Luckily for both of them, Rhodes was more stubborn than Tony and had a much better understanding of the real world. And it hadn’t taken long for him to claim the man as a brother. It had taken longer for Tony to reciprocate, of course, but that was only to be expected. Also, James Rhodes did not give up on anything he considered worthwhile. Helping Tony see that he was worth a hell of a lot more than his money and his genius was, to this day, Rhodes’ greatest personal achievement.

Of course, letting Tony be himself with money hadn’t been easy, even by then, because the Rhodes family was proud and worked hard to ensure they were able to make their own way in the world. They did not need handouts or charity, thank you, and woe betide anyone who offered either.

This was an attitude he’d seen and heard from Peter several times, and, according to Pepper during a de-stress meeting that was comprised solely of alcoholic ice cream floats, May had actually been worse, to the point she’d turned down a job offer from Helen Cho before Pepper finished talking. Helen had been extremely insulted and it had taken Tony two hours to explain that it wasn’t personal, May just considered anything that was offered to her as charity or pity and refused no matter what. They’d all hoped the offer coming from Helen instead of Tony would make a difference, but . . . it hadn’t.

It was frustrating (and a lot annoying and more than a little insulting) for everyone. But no one had felt it was permissible to challenge that attitude while she was still alive, for a lot of reasons, and Peter naturally followed her example. So the issue was never addressed, much less resolved, and now Peter was alone in the boat on a sea he had no way of understanding, so he was holding on to the things he was comfortable with like a drowning man to a buoy (okay, it was weird that he, an Air Force officer, was using so many water metaphors).

To be blunt, he was highly uncomfortable with being given money and expensive toys. And as he’d said, Rhodes got that. He really did.

In fact, that mindset had caused him a lot of grief when he was getting to know Tony Stark and it had required a stern and very humiliating lecture from his mother during his second semester as Tony’s roommate, complete with physical examples from his teenage years, to beat the pride out of him. Roberta Rhodes was a proud woman, but not stupid, and had learned when to allow her pride to rule and when to put it aside when her son was seriously looking at colleges.

He’d qualified for a partial academic scholarship to MIT, but it hadn’t been enough and his mother hadn’t been willing to apply for the low income grant he didn’t know about at the time. It had taken a lecture from her best friend, Rhodes’ beloved Aunt Cassie, to force her to see that refusing the grant simply so she could tell people she’d ‘done it on her own’ was stupid and arrogant beyond belief (only not nearly as PG; Aunt Cassie had a vocabulary that made sailors flinch), because it wouldn’t allow James to attend his preferred college, one that would nurture his talents and abilities, and allow him to realize his own dreams.

Unless, of course, telling people she’d ‘done it on her own’ was more important than her son’s future.

Rhodes hadn’t been present for that . . . uh, discussion; he hadn’t even known it had happened until he was receiving the same lecture a year later. It had been pointed out to him that refusing every single gift Tony tried to give him was just as insulting as using the man for his money, especially since it was highly likely that giving money and stuff was the only way Tony knew to show affection. Once the arrogance of his blind assumptions had been laid bare so thoroughly he could only stare blankly at his furious mother, Rhodes had eaten crow for three days straight as he voluntarily rearranged his worldview, and then did exactly what Tony wanted: he pretended nothing had happened and accepted the next gift his roommate and closest friend offered him.

It had been hard at first, allowing Tony to spoil him, and he’d definitely had to set some limits, but they’d managed to work things out pretty quickly and their friendship only strengthened from there.

Then Sunset Bain managed to worm her way past him and, without a second of hesitation and no shame or regret, wreaked near-total destruction on Tony’s trust — worse, she almost destroyed his heart. The only semi-positive thing to come from that clusterfuck was the fact that it forced Tony to start maturing and he finally began to grasp the dangers inherent in the pit of quicksand that was Being Rich. Up to that point, being used for sex and/or fifteen minutes of fame or kidnapped for ransom had been his only worry.

Sunset, though . . . she wasn’t cold-hearted. Rhodes could have dealt with that. No, her entire soul was encased in ice, concealed by acidic poison, though at least she hadn’t lied to Tony about her reasons and given him false hope that ‘she loved him but’. Still, her betrayal had hurt that much more because Rhodes had spent months refusing to take Tony’s money in lieu of lunch or going to the movies or having a marathon video game session, while teaching Tony that it was possible for people to like him and want to spend time with him just because they wanted to, not because he had money and influence, and Tony had finally started to believe him. Getting him back after that bitch had been a long, slow, agonizing process and more than once, Rhodes had seriously considered going after her and killing her just to give his best friend a little justice and some peace of mind.

Unfortunately, that would create more unnecessary problems than it solved, so he swallowed his hatred and turned his focus on helping Tony heal, which had meant he’d let his friend go crazy in making sure Rhodes had everything his heart had, did, and might ever desire, so he would never have a reason to betray or abandon him. In return, Rhodes made sure their room was always stocked with Tony’s favorite snacks and drinks, he covered the tab on at least half of their meals out and was Extremely Obvious about it, he worked out a deal to ensure total access to Tony’s preferred lab, and every person who insulted or denigrated his best friend without being provoked first got explosive diarrhea.

All that to say, Rhodes did understand where Peter was coming from and he knew exactly how uncomfortable and awkward and . . . and demeaning . . . it was to accept money and expensive gifts from someone who thought $100 filet mignon was a burger from McDonald’s. Whether you wanted it or not, you always felt cheap and like a charity case when someone offered to help you with the most basic stuff, and the more badly you needed it, the worse it felt. Weirdly, it was actually easier to accept high-end things, because middle-class kids usually couldn’t afford a brand-new gaming system either, so getting one as a gift was somehow more socially acceptable.

People were strange on top of being jerks when it came to money.

Thus (ack! He had to stop watching Downton Abbey with Happy; he was picking up too much of the lingo), he was eternally grateful that Hope had decided to crash the party. He knew how Peter felt, but Hope could explain Tony’s side, which the kid desperately needed to understand.

So: time to ambush the boy.

Well, this was going to be fun.

And again, thank God for Hope, because she beat him to the punch.

“How unhappy was Tony?” she asked their oblivious, still-fuming nephew conversationally, grinning when Peter shrieked and flipped himself to the ceiling, eyes wide and hair fluffed in both shock and indignation. Given the delicacy of the topic they were about to broach, neither Rhodes nor Hope commented on his decision to stay up there while he visibly thought the last few minutes over, grimaced, and did one of those disgustingly limber backflips to the floor, sticking the landing with grace obviously aided by his enhancements (heh, Rhodes saw what he’d just done there) and giving them a narrow-eyed look full of suspicion.

Well, that was fair. Rhodes was Tony’s best friend and Hope had become his permanent second in command in addition to that whole weird ‘adopted siblings but not really thing’ they had going on. The dynamics gave everyone else a headache, but at the end of the day, they would kill for each other and that was all a semi-intelligent person needed to know.

So when Peter’s reply was a wary “Huh?”, Hope just nodded and said, “He was pissed off when he left the meeting today and given your reaction to the results of his stress-shopping, I’m guessing he hadn’t calmed down when he dragged you off to — what, Fifth Avenue? Or did he just commandeer the mall and work his way through each floor?”

Those expressive brown eyes, so much like Tony’s, widened in sudden panic. “He can do that?!” the boy blurted out, appalled and the tiniest bit awed, and Rhodes couldn’t contain his amusement.

“Oh, yeah,” he drawled, gesturing Peter to the kitchen island and grabbing three water bottles from the fridge. “It’s the only way he can get anything done — well, that or he gets them to open up at, like, midnight. But it’s generally easier to just close to customers during working hours. And yes, there have been a few times where the mall thing or shopping at midnight was necessary. But you don’t look that traumatized, so I’m guessing he just hauled you to a few places that closed for him and bought half the merch.”

“Yes! It’s insane!” Peter exclaimed, looking both relieved that someone understood his agitation and also highly agitated at the memory. The combination on his face was comical and Hope let out a soft, musical peal of laughter, catching Peter’s hand in her own as she delicately said, “Sometimes it is, yes. He was just feeling . . . protective.”

His answering nod puzzled both adults, who exchanged a quick look sharing said surprise, followed by his matter-of-statement. “I know. He wanted to make sure I’m safe and protected and aren’t lacking in anything I might ever need or want for the next decade.”

Well. That was blunt, succinct, and absolutely correct.

“And you’re annoyed because you already have perfectly good clothes,” Rhodes continued for him, nodding at the sour look the kid was now sporting. “I hear you, Pete, and I understand. I was the exact same boat when I was in school and first year at MIT, so when Tony got assigned as my roommate, we had some serious, ugly fights about money and presents. I’d earned my place and I was proud of that, and I didn’t need some snot-nosed rich kid buying my affection. I sure as hell didn’t need his charity. Levis and t-shirts were perfectly fine; I mean, what college kid getting their bachelors needs Armani, right?”

Peter’s expression had morphed from irritated to surprise to relief during Rhodes’ commiserating mini-rant and he mentally sighed in relief. That was a positive sign and the odds were good that Peter would actually listen to him.

Beside him, Hope took a sip of water and remained quiet but watchful, occasionally brushing her pinky against Rhodes’ sleeve to let him know she was reading the situation and wasn’t seeing a problem. It was an alert system they’d developed on the second day of negotiations, after Barton had nearly gotten himself killed when one of the former SHIELD agents serving as Pepper’s bodyguard had had enough of his hateful, snide comments, aimed at both Tony and Pepper. So if one of them saw a potential or growing issue, but actually speaking up wasn’t possible, they’d developed a system of which finger meant what level of danger and so far, it was serving them well.

Anyway.

“Right,” Rhodes answered his own rhetorical question, leaning forward a little and catching Peter’s gaze in a trick he’d learned from his first colonel. A bomb could go off in the kid’s ear and he wouldn’t be able to look away. “And it’s insulting, people assuming that because you’re poor, you’re looking for pity or charity. So what if you’re barely scraping by? You’re making it and aren’t really lacking for anything, so it’s fine and people need to mind their own business.”

Peter nodded in response, but he’d already lost a little of the indignant bluster that had caught Rhodes’ attention to start with, and thank heaven for it. The kid was so quiet and self-effacing, no one would guess how stubborn he was when it came to his principles.

“Well, that was my family when I was in high school, especially my mom, and me when I first met Tony,” Rhodes told him, not relinquishing his gaze but allowing it soften just a little; he didn’t want to intimidate the kid too much, after all. “In fact, my mother almost kept me out of MIT because of it.”

The kid’s mouth actually dropped open, which was a lot more amusing than it probably should have been, made worse by Rhodes’ failure to keep his snort of laughter contained, and he barreled forward with an explanation to keep them from getting distracted.

“I had qualified for a partial scholarship; it covered two-thirds of tuition but not the dorms or meals, and definitely not books. And since my dad was our only source of income and I had two younger sisters, it looked like I wouldn’t get to go. I didn’t find out until after Tony became my roommate that MIT offered a low-income grant and my mom had refused to apply for it, because that was charity. It was okay for me to earn a scholarship, ‘cause it was determined by my grades. But getting a grant because our family income was so low? Oh, hell, no. Roberta and Patrick Rhodes were not going to beg for money.”

When he paused for breath, a little surprised at how intense the memories were, he saw that Peter somehow looked wary, guilty, and defiant simultaneously, and fondness for his nephew surged up. He was a great kid, but like everyone, he had blind spots. And while he was stubborn, he wasn’t stupid, so the odds were good that Rhodes could talk him around so long as he kept the conversation from getting too emotional. Like Tony (and Rhodes himself, honesty compelled him to admit), Peter didn’t handle that kind of situation well.

Which suddenly led Rhodes to wonder if they’d run a paternity test, because given the increasing number of traits they shared that were either similar or identical, that seemed like a smart thing to do. He made a mental note to talk to Tony and then returned his full attention to Peter.

“I didn’t know about this for a long time, but my Aunt Cassie found out that Mom had refused to apply for the grant and . . . took it upon herself to correct a few misconceptions,” he said carefully. Even now, thirty years later, he was eternally grateful he hadn’t been there. Two proud, stubborn, stronger-willed women didn’t exist — and he knew Pepper Potts. “According to my mother, it took a lot of yelling, followed by one simple question: ‘is your pride more important than your son’s future?’”.

Peter went very still at that, eyes wide with a lot of emotions, but he said nothing and Rhodes wasn’t entirely sure he breathed for a minute or so. After a few seconds of thought, he chose to treat the reaction as natural and kept going. “So, obviously, Mom didn’t have a good — or, well, any rebuttal to that, so she swallowed her pride and applied for the grant . . . and nobody cheered louder or cried more when I graduated. But. But. There was that three year period in-between. And that’s where my story starts.”

He paused and took a long drink of water before catching Peter’s gaze again, noting with approval that it was now clear and curious; if there was resentment or the like, it was well-hidden, and Rhodes could deal with that.

“I’ll spare you the unnecessary details, because a) they don’t really matter and b) they’re really boring. The important thing is that Tony learned from birth that money was all people cared about when it came to him. He wasn’t really appreciated for his genius and engineering skills until he was about 13 or so; yeah, he built a circuit board when he was four, but most people assumed Howard did it and used it as a PR stunt to introduce Tony. And he was . . . I’ll be blunt: Howard Stark was an ass. He didn’t want kids and his war experiences had done a lot of mental damage. Doesn’t excuse anything, but it resulted in him being a very absent, very neglectful father. He never hit Tony, but he never had time for him — no, that’s not true,” he corrected himself, feeling that old anger on Tony’s behalf flaring up. It took three deep breaths before he could continue.

“He flat-out ignored him unless Tony did something bad and big enough the media noticed. Then came the scathing disapproval, followed immediately by continued distance. So Tony didn’t learn social skills in school or at home. His mother was . . . she loved him, but she was a product of her time. So she never went against Howard and instead taught Tony how to survive in the world of SI: business, politics, fundraising, networking . . . basically, by the time he was ten, Tony could raise a million dollars to get plastic surgery for a pig, but he didn’t know how to ask a another kid to play Tag.”

Peter looked horrified and Rhodes felt a small stab of guilt; he hadn’t intended to go there, because Tony was private and fiercely protective of his childhood, albeit mostly for the wrong reasons, but Peter was his son . . . and he had to understand or this money thing was going to blow up into a huge problem.

So: onward it was.

“The thing is, because he didn’t learn any of the standard social skills, Tony was really naïve,” he said, choosing his words with care. “So it was easy for people to take advantage of him and use him for his money — and his tech genius, once he started really developing it. But his whole life, up to now, 98% of the people who approach Tony want money. So that’s . . . that’s how he thought the world worked. So when he tumbled into my dorm room, tiny and terrified and excited and miserable, with his butler helping him move but no sign of either parent, the first thing he did was offer to buy me my own bed because dorm beds suck. And they do, Kid,” he informed Peter, remembering with a wince just how uncomfortable that mattress had been. He still wasn’t sure it had been a mattress, actually; there was a lot of evidence pointing to ‘granite slab’. Peter, meanwhile, had a small grin, which made Rhodes give him one in return before he returned to making his point, convoluted as it was.

“At first, I obviously thought he was joking. I mean, who does that? Only, a week later, I stagger in after the worst and longest day on my schedule, and what do I see? A brand new bed and mattress, no shitty dorm bed in sight, and Tony looking pleased as punch.”

He stopped there, once more ashamed of his reaction at the time, understandable though it had been.

“And I lost it. I went ballistic. I was furious, Tony was confused, neither of us could actually communicate to save our lives . . . it was a mess, Peter. And it went on that way for the entire semester. If I wanted something or Tony thought I wanted it, he got it for me. He upgraded my meal plan and then made standing reservations for every good restaurant in a 60-mile radius, and they were for me. With or without him was fine; if I wanted to go out to eat, I could go anywhere and put it on his tab. That almost broke us. When he told me, giddy as a schoolgirl, I just . . . stopped. I wasn’t even mad. I was just done. In my entire life, I’d never been so insulted . . . and Tony was completely lost. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand what was wrong. And since neither of us were good at talking, I screamed something about not being his damn charity case and stormed off. And by ‘stormed off’, I mean I got in the car he’d bought me a couple of months earlier after mine died for the fourth time in a month and headed home.”

He glanced up at that and saw with bitter commiseration that Peter had clearly figured out where this was going and didn’t like it one bit. But his inherent politeness had kicked in, so he said nothing. Not being stupid, Rhodes took immediate advantage of that.

“Yeah, I ran away sulking like a Disney princess,” he said, his voice full of self-disgust. “And I ranted and raved to my mother about my crazy roommate, who didn’t respect anyone and thought that everything could be solved by money. Now, I’d been bitching about this very thing for a full semester by then,” he explained, taking another drink. “So none of this was new. But Mom had been trying to let me figure it out myself, so she didn’t give many hints or much advice, and everything she did say was . . . cryptic. And despite knowing the woman literally my entire life, all of it went over my head, mostly because I didn’t want to understand. Which is why she finally gave in and brought out the big guns and gave me no choice but to understand,” he said on an explosive sigh, reliving that embarrassment in bright, vivid memory.

A second look at Peter’s tight face, full of unhappy defiance, made him stop and reconsider his next words. He might do better making this personal and pertinent to the young man, instead of wandering down the yellow brick road of Rhodes’ youth.

“Let me ask you this,” he said abruptly, feeling Hope’s quiet amusement at Peter’s jolt of surprise. She’d been so quiet and still that he’d forgotten she was there, honestly, though that was a good thing. He needed all his concentration for this. “Have you ever had someone refuse Spiderman’s help?”

A puzzled frown came to the boy’s lips, but he slowly nodded, and Rhodes nodded back. He’d already known that, of course, but Peter needed to feel included and relevant, which was a big part of the underlying issue.

“Right. And it’s frustrating, isn’t it? Knowing that you have the ability to help someone but they refuse to let you? And you can force them, sure, but you won’t because they’re adamant about it; hell, they might even hurt themselves just to prove the point. They’re fine and they don’t need you interfering, so fuck off. Yeah?”

A heavy sigh was Peter’s answer as he slumped forward, taking a drink of his own water and meeting Rhodes’ eyes of his own accord this time.

“I get where you’re going,” he said quietly, gaze calm. “And I know you’re right. But helping out with rent or food or — or college isn’t remotely the same thing as buying me enough designer clothes to supply Queens and half of Manhattan.”

“Actually, it is,” Hope interjected — and both she and Rhodes watched in open-mouthed disbelief when Peter yelped and flipped himself to the ceiling again, eyes full of shock.

Rhodes honestly couldn’t believe it: Peter had forgotten she was there.

Hope burst out laughing, which earned her the patented Teenage Disgruntled Look™, and that set Rhodes off. For a good minute or so, the kitchen was full of the sound of two adults giggling uncontrollably and one teenage boy grumbling under his breath while he continued to hang from the ceiling.

With the patience of a woman who had Hank Pym for a father, had briefly dated Scott Lang, and was now a sister to Tony Stark, Hope waited him out, calmly eating Oreos while she watched him without blinking. It was unnerving as hell, even from the side, and Rhodes found himself holding his breath as Peter’s teenage stubbornness clashed with Hope’s stubborn patience. He was about to call it a draw when the kid heaved a sigh and dropped to the floor, looking adorably disgruntled.

Thankfully for all of them, Hope didn’t let that distract her, and she didn’t use it to infantilize him, either. Peter was in a difficult situation and they couldn’t help him if he thought they weren’t taking him seriously. Rhodes knew without being told that after her husband’s death, May had done exactly that, though she hadn’t meant to. But like all parents struggling with money, she thought it was better to keep that knowledge away from her young nephew, because ‘kids shouldn’t be worried about money’.

On the surface, that made perfect sense. The problem was that kids like Peter — highly intelligent, gifted at math and numbers, and empathic — knew full well they were being patronized and shunted off. For Peter, that led him to believe that their financial situation was worse than it really was (and he knew it was bad), which made him feel guilty at being an unwanted expense on his aunt and uncle, which spiraled into anxiety, which created sensitive and defensive feelings about money. Then, factoring in the Parker Luck that even Tony shuddered at, came the Spider Bite of Doom. That unexpected and irreversible change into Spiderman created another layer of problems for the boy: he began to feel like a burden instead of ‘just’ an expense, because now he needed more than he knew his aunt could provide.

The thing was, May (and likely her husband, a cop) had taught her nephew from a young age that if you wanted something, you worked to earn it, and accepting handouts was never necessary or acceptable. Peter, being a good-natured, obedient child, with a stubborn streak that made Rogers look inadequate (not that that was particularly difficult and no, Rhodes wasn’t bitter at all) and a deep well of familial pride, had taken this to heart and it had likely been a rare issue for the family, even if they’d never been what could be considered rich, or even comfortably middle-class.

But then his uncle was killed right as Peter’s new enhancements matured. The family’s income got cut in half overnight, while their expenditures more than doubled. Peter refused to put that onus on his aunt, however, and she used her pride as a bulwark against the agony of her loss. Neither of them would accept help, especially money, and they certainly wouldn’t ask for it, something that had driven Tony (and Pepper and Happy and Rhodes and Helen Cho) up the literal wall.

Then she died so unexpectedly and Peter had latched onto that mantra with all the strength he possessed, because it was one of the few things he had left of his beloved aunt that he knew she would be proud of him for doing.

All of which had led to the situation they were currently in.

You know, a good time for everyone.

Not.

“I know,” she insisted at his look of patent disbelief that expensive, name-brand clothes were somehow the same as food or rent or college, giving him a self-deprecating smile that conveyed her sincerity more than words ever could. “And I do know what you mean — yes, I do.”

This was a direct reply to his rather sardonic snort, and now Rhodes was the one biting his tongue. He had to let Hope handle this, if only because she was the inside expert on having money and he was not . . . a fact he’d gone to great lengths to establish not fifteen minutes ago. But he knew exactly what Peter was thinking, though the boy was likely using better mental language than Rhodes had during his Come to Jesus moment.

“I can see you thinking ‘how can she know how I feel? She grew up with money.’ And yes, I did,” Hope said calmly, her eyes never wavering. “I grew up never wanting for anything material. But . . . but I also grew up with everyone knowing that I had money, so I never got presents from ‘friends’. No one ever bought me lunch or even a coffee or saw some stupid little trinket that reminded them of me. It was understood that when I was out with someone, I got the bill. It was also heavily implied that if someone wanted something, I’d be a pal and get it for them.”

Peter blanched and reached across the table, taking her hands and giving her a soft, earnest look that did something Rhodes had sworn was impossible: it turned Hope van Dyne into a living, breathing marshmallow (not the one from Ghostbusters!, thankfully, though given their lives, he gave the room a quick check just in case).

“That sucks,” he told her, his voice full of empathy, and got a gentle smile in response.

“Yeah, it did. And a lot of people still think like that today. The thing is, though, because I’d always had money, I just assumed that’s how life worked: I took care of the things the people I cared about couldn’t do themselves. Money for rent or groceries, handling the dinner tab, clothes shopping, whatever — because when I went to college, I met a lot of people who weren’t in my social circles and some of them were really hurting for money. But that was okay; I had the resources and they didn’t, so why not help them? And I was . . . wow,” she murmured to herself, looking faintly stunned at whatever she was remembering, and Peter and Rhodes both held their breath so they didn’t break the moment.

“I was nearly thirty before someone refused my offer to buy something for him. Shocked me stupid, let me tell you,” she added, nodding at Peter’s horrified expression. “Yes. It’s shocking to you because you’ve never been on the giving end; it was shocking to me and Tony and everybody else in our position because we’d never been on the receiving end. But that has nothing to do with why you need the stuff Tony got you today,” she said, veering smoothly back on course and making Peter blink a few times as he tried to keep up.

“B—”

Gently but firmly, she cut him off.

“Ah-ah-ah. Let me explain. You see, you are now officially Tony Stark’s son and heir, even though it hasn’t been announced because you guys are keeping it quiet as long as feasibly possible. Knowing Tony, probably a year or so after that,” she groused, pulling a laugh from Peter while Rhodes ginned; she wasn’t wrong. “And that’s good; it gives you time to acclimate. Because the thing is, Peter, you have entered a very different social atmosphere.” Her voice softened unexpectedly at this, causing Peter to give her a puzzled look, while Rhodes mentally nodded as he began to see the point she was making.

“The people you’ll be dealing with as you move up in SI, or pull the most epic prank ever and give your dad a heart attack by working somewhere else, will expect certain things from you. The way you dress is one of them. Yes, it’s ridiculous,” she agreed to his offended look. “It’s ridiculous and it’s not fair, but it is reality. And you aren’t Tony; you simply don’t yet have the presence to walk into an official board meeting in sneakers, jeans, a T-shirt, and a dress blazer, no matter how much you wish you did.”

A mulish expression, full of resentful defiance, came to Peter’s face and Rhodes mentally winced. That was not a good sign and he started to fret about the best way to redirect things.

Hope had no such concerns and certainly no such intentions.

“You’re a casual guy, Peter,” she bluntly informed him, earning herself several startled blinks. “You’re uncomfortable dressing up, even for a dance, and it makes sense. You’ve never had reason to wear anything formal — seriously formal, I mean; high school dances are a start, yes, but they’re a once-a-year event, and the people who attend are generally on the same level. Generally,” she repeated, shutting that protest down before he could open his mouth. “And there’s always that one guy who has to make an ass of himself regardless, because he’s a dick. You could be wearing custom-designed Armani and he’d still mouth off. But the people who inhabit the world of SI and Pym Industries, Apple, Microsoft . . . even HammerTech” (they all gagged in disgust) “are a different breed. They will expect you to dress . . . not so much a certain way, though adhering to tradition is a good idea, at least until you develop your own style and are secure in it. But the kinds of clothes you wear will matter.”

She was blunt and matter of fact, and poor Peter didn’t have a clue how to respond. He’d somehow found enough fortitude not to gape at her, but it was a near-run thing and the sight was amusing, though Rhodes worked to hide it. The kid was sensitive to emotion and took way too much to heart, which had led to some truly epic misunderstandings, and not just between him and Tony. Rhodes had stuck his foot in his mouth a few times, as had Pepper. And there was a group-wide, mutual agreement to never mention Happy’s attempt at giving etiquette advice for a banquet Peter had attended for existing and new scholarship kids at Midtown; Tony and Pepper had been unexpectedly summoned to Hong Kong before they could help the kid prepare, May had never been to anything like that, and Rhodes had been on assignment, so Happy stepped up.

Something that would never, under pain of death, happen again. In fact, Rhodes was pretty sure Peter would choose death over what had actually happened.

Oblivious to his trip down memory lane, Hope continued.

“Thrift store clothes won’t work anymore, Peter, and neither will Levis, outside of this penthouse and your private labs. Not for the world you’re in now. Even if you were working in the lab and wearing casual clothes and run into some self-important blowhard, if you aren’t wearing Burberry or Calvin Klein or the like, his opinion of you will instantly plummet, and so will his respect. It sucks,” she said forcefully, leaning forward to emphasize how much she meant what she was saying. “It sucks and it’s fucking stupid, pardon my French. But that’s the way of our world and before you start that crusade, understand: everyone else has already tried — including Tony. And he’s probably come the closet. But even when he wears jeans to a board meeting, they’re designer because people will recognize if he isn’t and make a fuss. Will it matter in the grand scheme of things?” she said rhetorically, watching Peter closely and looking satisfied at the sullen understanding in his eyes. But not only did she not acknowledge it, she barely paused to take a quick breath.

“For Tony, no. But it took him more than twenty years to develop his reputation and earn the respect to do it. And when he goes to formal events, he’s in a designer suit, because that’s what’s expected, even of him. But there are certain things that cannot be undone, and the impression created by what you wear is one of them. So Tony buying you a ton of higher-end starter clothes is good, because you need to start getting used to it now, before it really matters.”

She fell silent, giving Peter some time to assimilate this, and brushed her pinky against Rhodes’.

Huh. She didn’t see any issues developing. Well, that was . . . good. Surprising and possibly a little concerning, but good. Rhodes would take it.

“So yes, start wearing the Burberry and Calvin Klein to school. Do it in stages, even, that’s fine.” When he gave her another puzzled look, albeit one with a heavy dose of resentment still mixed in, she nodded soberly. His aggravation was adorable, in a way, but it was also very real and Hope was walking a thin line. If she failed to get to Peter understand this, it would fall on Tony — and he would do a bad job at explaining it because he didn’t actually understand it himself. He had, quite literally, been born to this life, so no one had ever needed to explain the rules to him. Hope had also been born to money, but Hank Pym had never been on Howard Stark’s level (which the entire world knew, whether they wanted to or not), so his daughter had been forced to learn a lot of the ropes the hard way as she grew up.

In other words, it was Hope or no one. And the latter wasn’t an option.

“Wear the Everlane shirt with a pair of Levi’s one day, or a pair of Hugo Boss shoes, and you’ll work your way up to suits and tuxes. But you have to start getting comfortable with expensive, high-quality things. And I don’t just mean clothes,” she told him firmly, all humor fading as she leaned forward a little, refusing to let him look away. “But be honest, Peter: do you really want the first gala or conference you attend as Tony’s son to also be the first time you wear Tom Ford or Armani? Or does it make more sense to get comfortable with the idea and the reality, a little at a time?”

Peter swallowed hard, but his acceptance of her logic was clear to see, and she softened a little.

“I know you don’t like it, but this is a part of your life now. One way or another, you’ll have to adapt. Speaking from experience, the sooner the better. And when you’re at school and people who aren’t your friends, or you don’t even know, ask about it, just shrug and walk away. You don’t owe anyone answers, Peter, though I appreciate that’s easier said than done. But while you're keeping the adoption quiet, there isn’t any point in trying to explain, so why put yourself through that? And let’s be real: your friends will either already know, won’t care, or will accept ‘my guardian got them’ because they’re your friends. Nobody else matters.”

She stopped there and took a deep breath, leaning back but never once relinquishing Peter’s gaze.

“But I’ll be honest, it will change things. People who haven’t paid attention to you will start, because you’ll be . . . well, basically, you’ll be speaking a whole new language, one that they understand. And those are relationships you’ll need to start cultivating. Make friends if at all possible, but connections are just as important. It’s also something that Tony and Pepper and Jim and I will help you with, so don’t worry. Networking is as much as part of life as breathi—no, don’t shake your head at me,” she scolded, giving him an arch look that cut off his next protest.

“You network as Spiderman all the time. You found that bomb when none of us could because you’re friendly with that homeless guy on 57^th. Even if we had known about him, he wouldn’t have talked to us . . . but he likes you and trusts you because you built a relationship with him, so he told you when you asked. That is the exact same thing as cultivating people in high school and college. Just . . . a lot less cutthroat.”

This blunt (and true) assessment pulled a chuff of laughter from Rhodes and Peter blinked, then turned and gave him a long, searching look.

“What do you think, Uncle Rhodes?” he asked quietly, directly, trusting that Rhodes wouldn’t to lie to him or placate him.

It was also the first time he’d acknowledged the relationship Rhodes wanted to have with him, and the title he’d already claimed.

A wave of pride swamped him, so strong it almost knocked him over. Even after everything that had happened to him, Peter Benjamin-Parker Stark was strong, proud, and independent. He didn’t like what he was being told, which was absolutely fair, but he was mature enough to accept it.

But he was also insecure enough to want the affirmation of someone he trusted almost as much as he trusted Tony.

God help him, but knowing that was just as profound now as it was the first time Tony had demonstrated his trust to Rhodes, and it took everything he had to keep from crying.

“She’s right, Peter,” he said a touch hoarsely, leaning forward as well. “I’m in the military, so I have more leeway with casual clothes, but when I go to SI in my position as liaison, I wear dress clothes. Not necessarily a suit, but dress pants and shoes and a nice shirt — and yeah, it’s Gucci and Versace and Hugo Boss, because that’s what’s expected of someone in my position for a company like SI. Admittedly, I sometimes have to change when I get here because Tony got me something new, ‘cause he thinks I’ll like it or he apparently has a crystal ball and knows I’ll need it before I do. But that’s just Tony: generous to a fault.”

Rhodes held Peter’s gaze a little longer after he finished speaking, knowing that Hope was doing the same, and after he felt sure Peter was ready, they finally let the young man look away for the first time since Rhodes had started this, however long ago it had been. A deep sigh was their reward, followed by the incongruous sight of Peter burying his face in his hands as he took some time to just absorb everything they’d told him.

After a few minutes, he sighed again and slowly stood up. His face and eyes were unreadable, for what might be the first time in his life, and both adults watched curiously as he approached. When he gave Hope a gentle hug, she broke out in a delighted smile and returned it, murmuring something in his ear that made him nod against her shoulder before he pulled away and turned to his uncle.

Again, he didn’t speak, but the warm hug he received made Rhodes’ throat tighten again with love for this boy who loved Tony so fiercely and had staked a defiant claim on him long before Tony had adopted him. If nothing else, Rhodes knew, Peter would adapt for his father, and that was a solid start. He would have all the guidance and help he needed as they moved forward, and Rhodes could not wait to see what Peter grow up.

As he headed out of the kitchen, Hope nudged his pinky with hers and he glanced her way, only to see her staring intently at the kitchen’s other entrance . . . where Tony was watching his son, his eyes glassy with tears and lips curved in a smile so full of emotions that it hurt to look at. Then his senses told him he was being observed and he turned to face his teammates, his friends, his siblings . . . and he sniffed once, straightened, and gave Hope the blinding, pure, ‘Tony’ smile that until now, only Rhodes, Pepper, Happy, and Peter had ever seen.

It actually made her catch her breath and sway a little, which in turn had both Rhodes and Tony laughing at her.

Then Tony turned to Rhodes and his amusement deepened to the love they had shared for thirty-two years. Tony took a single deep breath and gave Rhodes the greatest respect he could: a sincere, military-grade perfect salute. His body responded on instinct and Rhodes returned it, nodding in silent understanding and acceptance of Tony’s thanks and gratitude for helping his son.

Then he left to go to Peter, while Hope and Rhodes stood in silence in the empty kitchen and pondered the weirdness that was their lives and relationships.

It was becoming almost maudlin when Hope huffed, turned to him, and said, “I’m never doing that again, I don’t care about the Bambi eyes. Also, I want salt, alcohol, and grease. Take me to the best Mexican hole-in-the-wall in New York.”

Stunned, Rhodes couldn’t do anything but blink before her words sank in and he nodded vigorously.

“Agreed,” he said. “Tony can raise his own damn kid. As for the best place . . . how do you feel about sopapillas?”

The incredulous look he got in return made him laugh and as they headed out in search of sustenance, bickering amiably about the best way to eat the popular Mexican dessert (Rhodes dipped the pastry in a container of honey, while Hope filled the thing to overflowing and crammed as much in her mouth as was humanly possible — and she could rival Peter for that), he took just a minute to reflect on how much his life had changed in the last year. He didn’t miss Rogers or the others, not even a little, and he would sell his soul for Tony not to have suffered the way he had . . . but without those things, they wouldn’t have Peter. It was cliché, it really was, but that boy made everything worth it. His presence had done so much to alter everyone’s perspectives that it was kinda mind-boggling when Rhodes really thought about it.

But you know what?

His future — all of their futures — had never looked brighter.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Surprise!

Steve Rogers, King T'Challa and Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and Wanda Maximoff each received an exceedingly unpleasant surprise one otherwise tranquil morning, each of them building on the one before and creating a cascade of devastation that somehow came as a complete surprise to all four id—uh, recipients.

Said devastation was truly impressive, to the point that quite a few outside observers found themselves munching on the Wakandan version of street tacos and placing bets on which person would combust first.

Showing either a startling degree of collective precognizance or a simple understanding of the spoiled rotten brat, Maximoff was the overwhelming favorite.

It started small, as things often do, and as such, it took everyone time to realize there was a problem, since Steve was the only one who knew something was wrong. Of course, he didn't know that he knew, but after spending most of the night and the entire morning trying and failing to figure out where that muffled, nagging, never-ending beeping was coming from, he pushed down enough pride to speak to one of the women who guarded the door of their suite, and after considerable pleading (read: whining), she reluctantly took the information to Princess Shuri — who, to everyone's surprise, was there in less than twenty minutes.

It then took another two hours of increasingly-frustrated searching to ascertain that the noise was somewhere in their shared palace suite, but that was it. Shuri's irritation at this lack of useful information was compounded by the fact that nobody could hear it but Rogers, which meant they could help him look, but without being able to narrow down a location, everyone else was useless in the search.

That sound was the first part of Steve's unpleasant surprise. Shuri's introduction came when her high-tech scanner, lauded not just by her people but also the Rogues as hands-down better than anything Tony Stark could create, didn't find a thing. It didn't even register the noise, which the others were finally able to hear when . . . somehow . . . one of the Wakandan scientists managed to temporarily create what Barton jokingly called a Zero Room and blocked all outside stimulation. He was only able to maintain that for about fifteen minutes, but that was enough time to allow them all to hear the beeping that was driving Steve up the wall and ascertain it wasn't coming from the main room, which left the bedrooms as the only other option.

Shuri's exclamation of triumph contained more than a little smugness, accompanied by her waving her scanner in the hall leading to the Rogues' private quarters . . . and was promptly swamped by her bewilderment when her equipment still didn't locate where the sound was originating. The Rogue Avengers were standing in a group in the middle of the room, highly displeased (or possibly constipated; the adage about drinking the local water held as true in Wakanda as it did in Mexico) at this unexpected failure. The Dora Milaje were stone-faced as they watched their princess, the most intelligent person in their country and suggested by some people to have also exceeded both Tony Stark's intelligence and talent for inventing, employ five different attempts to make the scanner work before finally giving up with an aggravated sigh and turning the thing off.

"What's going on?" Barton demanded, sneering at Rahin when she hissed at his disrespect and stepped between him and her princess, one hand on her spear in a clear warning that he ignored. "You're supposed to b—"

He was interrupted by the unexpected change to the beeping. It had been a steady, constant rhythm and pitch, which they had all become accustomed to, so when it suddenly started sounding like it was . . . drunk . . . for lack of a better description, the entire room instinctively looked at the ceiling in absolute bafflement as the tone deepened, the pace slowed, and the beeps began to blur together. After one last sad bloop, blessed silence fell.

Followed by the next part of Steve Rogers' unpleasant surprise (and Shuri's, should she be asked).

Pop

Pingpingping

Boom

Whump

Fwing

The unexpected cacophony of sounds stopped as quickly as it began, leaving the people in the room in various stages of a defensive stance, but their collective confusion was stronger — and the feeling only increased when a small plume of purplish-grey smoke appeared beneath both closed doors of the team's bedrooms. Everyone stared at the innocuous-looking cloud as it dissipated, only for Romanova to suddenly turn white and mutter something in Russian, which not even Barton understood, as she hurried to the door of the room she and Maximoff shared and gave it a long, assessing look before pulling it open.

No one could see inside, but her vicious curse said plenty, even if it didn't provide any answers. Still swearing, she stalked into the room and, after some loud and aggressive noises, emerged a minute later, holding her last pair of Widow Bites on a towel. She was still cursing, but the sight of those beautiful, elegant, deadly weapons disintegrating amid puffs of dark smoke rendered everyone else mute.

Until Barton caught a clue. He swore just as violently as his partner and lunged for the room he shared with Wilson and Rogers, cursing up a blue streak as he banged around, and after a few seconds of hesitation, everyone followed. They were all alarmed and puzzled, but since the pair of spies had obviously figured out what was going on, they wanted to see as well.

So it was that Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Princess Shuri of Wakanda were met with the astonishing sight of Clint Barton, archer extraordinaire, holding his beloved bow and the quiver containing his last six arrows and staring in horror as they crumbled in his hands. Wilson gasped in denial and crossed the room to his personal cubby, looking frantically for his wings, only to hit his knees and moan, his hands covering his mouth as he watched them come apart with robust puffs of smoke. Stunned silence choked them all as the only possible meaning of such coordinated destruction became clear.

"No. No, he wouldn't," Rogers finally rasped, looking sick but also outraged, his eyes dark with the trademarked stubborn conviction that He Was Right™. But when he finally took the few steps needed to reach his shield, it was clear that not only would 'he' do it, 'he' had. Vibranium was impervious to most things . . . but 'most' does not equal 'all'. Add to that caveat the reality of an external recall device, designed and built by one Tony Stark, combined with the vindictive fury of someone who has been deeply, irreparably wronged and betrayed and . . . well.

Suffice to say, Steve Rogers' not-quite-as-iconic-shield, which had been made by Wakanda to replace the one he'd left with Stark, was still connected to the magnetic return wristband (why reinvent the wheel or change something that worked so well?) — and it was now useful only as a paperweight. It couldn't even be used as a Frisbee, due to the new and permanent structural instability, and it was just too big to function as a dinner plate. Maybe it could work as a serving platter, but . . . well, those electric tremors weren't going to stop for quite some time, and as fascinating as the thought of cooking food on a literal hot plate was, using it as a paperweight was really the best outcome. It might — might — withstand one solid hit from a spear or sword, but a bullet would finish the disintegration and any kind of energy blast would vaporize the shield and possibly the poor schmuck holding it.

Rogers was in utter shock. He was unresponsive, staring blankly at his now-useless security blanket, so brutally and efficiently destroyed that there wasn't a single thing left to salvage, and Wilson wasn't any better. Maximoff didn't have a weapon to destroy, so she didn't understand any of it. But Barton and Romanova got the message loud and clear, and so did Princess Shuri.

Tony Stark knew exactly where his former teammates were.

And he wasn't merely furious with them.

He wanted blood . . . and vengeance was going to be his.

The last realization jolted the princess into action. She wasn't worried; in fact, despite the outrage that a colonizer had managed to breach her security, she had to concede that putting an external self-destruct feature into his equipment was brilliant. It was also difficult to do, since more and more people were developing EMPs to knock out technology, or utilizing jamming fields that would render such measures useless. She herself had upgraded Wakanda's security shields to incorporate both measures, along with a randomly-generated frequency that changed on an equally-random timescale.

All of which should have made what Stark had just done completely, utterly impossible.

And thus, the true arrival of Princess Shuri and King T'Challa's unpleasant surprises.

Because even as she bolted for her lab, summoning T'Challa as she went, a series of loud, echoing booms sounded from outside, shaking the thick palace walls and earning cries of alarm and confusion as literally everyone stopped what they were doing and crowded around the nearest window . . . and to a person, jaws dropped, eyes went wide with disbelief, and nobody could form words, coherent or not, as they watched the impossible happen before their dumbfounded eyes.

Wakanda's vaunted shields, which had kept its people away from outside corruption — sorry, influence — and also prevented anyone from seeing just how technologically advanced their country was, not to mention how wealthy, were collapsing in a masterful display of control that screamed "superior intellect" more effectively than a message printed on a Goodyear blimp. The fact that none of them — including those guarding the border — had seen so much as a single hint of the attack made it worse. And the crowning insult was the fact that there was no damage whatsoever to the land or the people. Wakanda's shields had fallen, but that was it. There was no army, no attack . . . there was nothing but a single craft, sleek and lethal-looking, gliding in slowly, without a care in the world, completely unconcerned with any possible defensive measures.

The sight of such breathtaking arrogance did exactly that and took Shuri's breath away . . . until she triggered the palace defenses, only to gape in utter denial when nothing happened. She didn't even get the small satisfaction of seeing the gun turrets try to move, or explode in a ball of flames. For all the reaction her weapons gave her, they might as well have been wax models.

All any Wakandan could do, including T'Challa and the international terrorists he'd given shelter to, was watch in stupefied silence as the jet circled the palace twice and eschewed the landing pad before landing as neatly in the courtyard as a cat settling in for a nap. Despite themselves, the population, whether watching live or on hastily-aired live TV, held its breath when nothing else happened for a solid six or seven minutes. Then the hatch opened and Tony Fucking Stark sauntered down the ramp, followed by three young men that nobody recognized, all of them dressed in clothes suited to a high-end tech conference, and all of them looking so unimpressed, the entire country felt inadequate without knowing why.

And thus, the arrival of Wanda Maximoff's unpleasant surprise.

T'Challa recovered first and stormed to the main palace doors, quickly followed by his sister and their personal guards, then the Rogues. He was yelling . . . well, nobody was quite sure what exactly he was saying, though the odds were good he was cursing Stark's ancestors, descendants, and cadet branches with extremely unpleasant venereal diseases. There was probably something about illegal entry and violation of sovereign borders as well, but the second Maximoff left the sanctuary of the palace, the most unexpected thing imaginable happened.

Well, it would have been the most unexpected thing had any of the Rogues or Wakandans known who he was.

Peter Parker, Queens' friendly, non-lethal, non-violent, neighborhood Spiderman, stepped in front of Stark, gave the woman a look so cold, frost actually formed on the windows for a few seconds . . . then, without the slightest change of expression, never mind a warning twitch, flung something at her so hard and fast, she didn't have a chance to deflect it before it smacked her right between the eyes.

A heartbeat later, she was screaming on the cobblestones, her body violently convulsing as the miniature Taser, designed specifically for her, did its job and incapacitated her. The violence so emotionlessly and unexpectedly exhibited kept everyone shocked into silence, one that wasn't broken even when she finally stopped screaming and went limp, conscious but unable to move. The young man waited several seconds, clearly ensuring she was safely debilitated, and then he dropped to a knee at her side and looked at her with eyes so full of hate that the group behind her took an involuntary step backwards.

The trio behind him just looked grimly satisfied, though sorrow was clearly visible in their eyes.

"You thought you'd gotten away with it," Peter hissed, venom dripping from each word and burning holes in the stone floor. "You thought no one would find out what you are, what you did. Who you killed. How you killed them. And why."

That stony pronouncement woke Rogers up and he scowled, stepping forward in an obvious attempt to get between Maximoff and the young man who had just assaulted her without warning and with no reason. He refused to acknowledge Tony and also ignored the two boys who'd accompanied Peter, so he understandably taken by still-more surprise when the young man didn't even look up, just snapped, "Don't even think about it, Steroid Shot. She isn't a kid and she wasn't misguided. My parents were abducted for their knowledge and research in genetics, and when they refused to talk under normal torture, Liszt gave them to her. She mentally tortured them both until she literally drained them dry of every single thing they knew. Then she used her sick, disgusting abilities to hold my dad to the wall and forced him to watch while six of HYRDA's soldiers came in and r—"

He stopped there, face green and chest heaving from the force of his heartsick rage, and all three men behind him took an instinctive step toward him, stopping reluctantly when he help up a hand, his eyes now boring into Steve's. The violence burning in that deceptively warm, brown gaze made him swallow hard, even as denial swelled up. Wanda was a good kid who'd been lied to and mislead. It wasn't her fault.

Clearly seeing where his thoughts had gone, Peter leaned forward, his eyes suddenly so full of rage that they were black, and spittle actually landed on Steve as he hissed, "That . . . that . . . your innocent little girl made him watch while his wife, my mother, was violently raped by soldiers under her command, you fucking bastard! And yes, she did," he spat, cutting Steve off before he could take a breath to protest. "You so thoughtfully dumped those tapes online for the entire world to see while committing treason, so I got to watch it happen, completely unprepared," he continued a little hysterically, eyes now blazing with an old pain that Steve had only seen once before.

Siberia.

Tony.

"I was doing research for a history project and looking up ancestors, you know?"

The young man suddenly sounded conversational and out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Nat and Clint both take several unsubtle steps back, which confused him. However, he had no time to dwell on it.

"So you can imagine my horror when one of the links I clicked on was a remarkably clear video of my parents being tortured by a HYDRA grunt, followed by an extremely boring monologue of Liszt droning on about foolish anarchists and HYDRA's invincibility and his own superiority," he said, refusing to let Steve look away. "And I should have stopped. I should have gone and gotten Tony. But it was like watching a train wreck — which I've seen, by the way — and I couldn't do anything but watch your pet witch mentally rape them and force both of them to share every secret they had," he whispered in a tortured voice that made everyone who heard it shudder.

Steve, though . . . he didn't believe it. He couldn't. Wanda wouldn't do that, any more than Bucky had. Because they were innocent. This boy was lying so Tony could justify throwing them in prison again, because he couldn't admit that he was wrong and Steve was right.

Oblivious now to Steve's thoughts, Peter finally finished his thought. "Then, when they were no longer useful for information and the soldiers were done, she waved those dainty little hands and used that hideous red magic to snap their necks before HYDRA took them away and laid the fake trail of dying in a plane crash so nobody would get suspicious. And it worked beautifully, since HYDRA grew and thrived and obtained the means and authority to do those things to people like my parents, and no one thought to stop them — because thanks to your moronic, power-hungry, delusional girlfriend, they knew they could."

How dare this brat sully Peggy's name with such horrible, baseless accusations?!

Enraged at all the lies the boy was spewing, lies that poor Wanda had no choice but to listen to, Steve straightened to his full, intimidating height and took exactly one step forward, only to pause when the boy with blondish hair raised some kind of odd-looking gun. Being Steve Rogers, he scoffed at the notion a regular bullet would affect him.

So when the projectile slammed home in his groin, causing instant, agonizing fire to burn like acid through his entire body, it was just as understandable that his disbelief was stronger than the pain . . . albeit not by much. And as loudly as he was screaming, curled up in a fetal position, the observers could all be forgiven for thinking that he'd been seriously injured.

Which he hadn't. Despite the vindictive requests of everyone involved — Pepper, Rhodes, Happy, Peter, Harley, Ned, MJ — Tony had reluctantly but firmly refused to make the bullet sterilize Rogers. "If we do that, we aren't any better than he is," he'd warned, eyes dark with conviction, though it was heavily underscored with regret. "Just because we personally believe he should be prevented from having children for the good of all humanity doesn't make us right. A lot of people said that about Howard, and if their wish had come true, I wouldn't be here. And be honest: that would just suck."

So the bullet hurt like hell and it was definitely funny watching the tall, blond asshole writhing around, but he'd be fine in an hour or so.

Having said his piece to Rogers, Peter promptly proceeded to ignore him, fixing his lethal attention back on Maximoff, who finally realized that this was real and that she was in dark, dangerous trouble. Her arrogant exterior cracked because she could no longer hide her fear, something Peter relished with an intensity that was very, very unnerving.

"Do you understand that I could kill you and no one could stop me?" he breathed, sounding almost gentle . . .

. . . and everyone stopped breathing, deeply, viscerally afraid for a reason they couldn't name but sent ice sliding through their veins.

She wet herself and whimpered, but still couldn't move, which only amplified her fear, and Peter smiled in response.

Everyone else was paralyzed at the sudden realization this young man might very well kill her with his bare hands, that gentle smile still on his lips.

Tony, though . . . he was terrified. He'd agreed to this because he knew Peter, so he hadn't been concerned that he'd lose control while confronting the little bitch.

He should have known better. Peter felt exactly the way he had when he'd discovered the full scope of Rogers' lies and betrayals, which was completely natural and expected. He would have killed Steve Rogers and never felt a shred of remorse or regret, because he had long since learned that if you left people who hurt you alive and unpunished, they tended to do it again. He also didn't care nearly as much about himself as he should, but he was fiercely, dangerously protective of the people he loved. You hurt them, you died (unless you were Hammer, who wasn't worth killing and instead got to waste away in prison for the rest of his truly useless life).

Peter, though . . . he would be entirely justified in killing her, yes, and nobody would blame him or judge him . . . but it would destroy him. The second he emerged from the protective, righteous fury consuming him, he would choke on regret and self-hatred and would quickly spiral into self-destruction.

Like hell was Tony letting that happen. He and Peter had finally gotten their act together and acknowledged who they were to each other, as had he and Harley, and Harley and Peter. It was a touch ironic that Ned was the most emotionally stable one of the group, so that trio formed immediately, but the end result was that Tony Stark had three sons (much to the surprise of Mr and Mrs Leeds) and he would protect them with every breath in his body.

So if Maximoff needed to die for Peter to have peace, fine. Tony would do it.

He was a step away from his son when he spoke again . . . and once more stopped the country in its tracks.

"I would, too. Just break every bone in your body or let you experience the effectiveness of Chinese water torture . . . but truthfully, you just aren't worth it. You aren't worth my attention or any more of my time," he whispered, his expression finally darkening from that terrifying gentleness to normal, safe anger. "And the other people you've hurt just for power or fake revenge, they deserve better. So I'm gonna put this lovely collar on you and seal those nasty, stolen powers away for good, and then I'm gonna drop you from a plane into the courtyard of Sokovia's national prison. They're waiting for us, you see, because you've been tried in absentia and found guilty — isn't it wonderful how much video evidence is available?"

That sounded downright cheerful and everyone shifted again, extremely disquieted. This wasn't . . . well . . . the threats and the rapid-fire personality changes were things Tony Stark was known for among his enemies, but seeing a teenager do it was alarming and sending waves of foreboding down everyone's spines.

And then Peter kept talking, kept explaining, making sure the little witch truly understood just how much trouble she was in, and how she had exactly no control over what was about to happen.

"Your punishment, something I personally requested, is to work one year of hard labor for every person you voluntarily killed, tortured, or assaulted. Oh, and before you think that's not so bad," he told her, sounding disturbingly gleeful now and making everyone swallow hard. "You'll be doing things like building outhouses from scratch and cleaning them by hand and moving 100lb rocks by yourself. And at their . . . emphatic . . . demands, which I actually had nothing to do with but think is a brilliant idea, your victims' family members, because you left no survivors, will supervise — and they will have full and total control over you for that year. Then, if you survive those 294 years, you'll be dumped in the gulag to rot. Insignificant and forgotten. You don't even have a name. You're nothing but Prisoner DQ1682490."

The silence that swelled up when he finished talking would have drowned an elephant, had one wandered by. But not even a horrified, neck-deep-in-denial Steve Rogers was able to object when Peter held out a steady hand and Ned stepped forward, placing a deceptively-delicate red collar on his palm before squeezing his shoulder and murmuring something too soft for anyone but Peter to hear. No one spoke when he locked it in place around her scrawny throat, or moved to stop him when he stood up and yanked her to her feet, allowing Harley to roughly cuff her wrists behind her back before he and Ned took up their places at Peter's shoulder and Tony settled in at their backs, his gaze steady and alert.

The four of them stared at the Wakandan crowd, with the Rogue Avengers mixed in, faces now expressionless, for several minutes before Shuri, who had actually recovered faster than her brother, finally couldn't take it anymore. She despised the witch, though not as much as this young man so deservedly did, so she was thrilled to be getting rid of her. "Guard her until they are ready to leave," she ordered the closest quartet of Dora Milaje, who bowed and obeyed, looking as gleeful as warriors of their caliber could. Tony arched his eyebrows at that, but didn't object since Peter didn't.

That matter handled, Shuri focused on her true concern. "How did you take down my shields?" she demanded, stepping forward to direct her question at Tony.

And was visibly shocked when Ned laughed.

"Oh, please. It took me less than an hour to override the code and the only reason it took that long was because I needed to make them fall as we came in, instead of all at once," he replied scornfully. "Whoever wrote that code was pathetic; I was better when I was fourteen."

An indignant squawk, hastily muffled, came from somewhere in the crowd, while Shuri just frowned. She wanted to object, but coding ability had nothing to do with access to vibranium, so it was possible he was more skilled in that regard. After all, he was with Tony Stark, who was not only brilliant himself, but also well-known for not keeping incompetent people on his payroll. "Very well," she said, nodding her acceptance before broaching her next concern. "And how did you bypass the protections specifically designed to prevent outside electronic interference? Not the tracking system itself, that makes sense," she clarified, cutting that rebuttal off. "But you should not have been able to activate the actual self-destruct. My system is designed to prevent that exact thing."

The other young man, who'd shot Rogers, snorted. "You think two-dimensionally," he explained curtly. "The very fact that we were able to actively track their equipment means you have a weak spot, and I know how kids think. The design itself is clever, sure, but like I said, it's two-dimensional. You never thought about someone reverse-engineering the outgoing signal. And once I did that, it was literal child's play for Peter to make your system stop protecting the alien signals. Destroying them wasn't even child's play for Tony; he put on a blindfold and found all four weapons by using your own roadmap, just to see how many tries it took — it was one each, if you want to know. We should totally do that again," he said as an aside to Tony, who snorted quietly in reply, before looking back at Shuri and drawling, "I hate to break it to you, Princess, but even cheating with vibranium, ya'll just aren't that good. You've got promise, yeah, but none of you have any real experience and you have no idea how to work with real-world materials."

Now Shuri was affronted and sucked in a deep breath, about to tear into the arrogant child who had spoken so contemptuously to her, when there was suddenly a great deal of rustling from the crowd behind her, accompanied by her mother appearing from nowhere.

"That is excellent information to know," she said cordially to Stark and his sons, though her body was taut with anger. Who it was meant for wasn't as clear as it should have been, though, and both Shuri and T'Challa shivered. "And we will most definitely take it under consideration. But for now, I hope you'll understand that I have to ask you to do what you came to do and remove this group of terrorists from my country. Immediately."

Being neither a fool nor inexperienced, Tony bowed in respect and said, "Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you for rounding them up for us; we were prepared to do it, but your assistance is greatly appreciated."

The now-detained group of Rogues all angrily cried out behind their thick gags, only to be summarily ignored by literally everyone, which only pissed them off more.

Ramonda just smiled thinly at Tony and gestured to their jet. "We are pleased to have been of service but we do not wish to delay you any longer. Clearance to leave has naturally been granted, but Dr. Stark?"

He gave her a long look, face inscrutable, before asking, "Yes?"

"Do not deviate from the flight plan you have been provided. What happened today was necessary, but we will not be so amenable to any additional . . . antics."

The threat was clear, so it surprised them all when Tony just chuckled. "Of course, Queen Ramonda. We wouldn't dream of it. Thank you again for your assistance and I hope our next meeting isn't quite so . . . impromptu."

"Indeed," Ramonda drily replied. "Have a safe journey."

Without another word, she turned around and made her way regally into the palace, her steps measured and imperious. She was clearly furious and needed only a single raised eyebrow to summon her children to her side. The subsequent blistering lectures would have peeled linoleum from the floor, if the Wakandan palace had possessed such cheap material. And after a very thorough investigation into not just the colonisers' claims about the country's technology deficiencies, but also the circumstances that led T'Challa to do something as stupid as offering sanctuary to Barnes and allowing Rogers to railroad him in accepting the rest of his team, the Dowager Queen of Wakanda dropped 'dowager' from her title and claimed the throne until her children had not just proven themselves capable of ruling, but had also earned the respect and approval of their people.

T'Challa would spend the next two years training in multiple roles, both in leading and following, by learning different skills from several mid-level figures around the globe, as Wakanda's status wasn't high enough to warrant top-tier leaders. His experience serving as an aide for countries as small as Sri Lanka and as big as China did more to beat the arrogance out of him than losing a thousand battles would have, though it knocked him for a major loop when, for the first time, he saw that a good leader wasn't afraid or ashamed to take direction from people who knew better. His father had trained him well, yes . . . but without actual experience, training is of little help, and learning on the job isn't the best way to rule a country. And very few countries were tribal monarchies the way Wakanda was, so the way they did business was utterly unfamiliar to the young king. When he finally returned home, this time to go through a second round of classes and instruction on the best ways to rule Wakanda, his manner and bearing were so different, people didn't recognize him.

But it worked: he finally grasped that one could not be an effective leader or earn loyalty unless he was willing to give such in return, and always remain aware that even in a monarchy, a king was not all-knowing simply because he was king — and he could not rule alone.

Meanwhile, Shuri, having been rejected from MIT to her eternal shock, entered Stanford the following semester to learn her craft without the advantage of vibranium or the protected atmosphere of her home, where she had been coddled and never bested or even doubted. The first thing she learned was that no one cared that she was a princess; partying and having fun was okay, but only if it didn't interfere with their work (engineers are an intense bunch, and utterly unlike any other group on campus). The second thing she discovered was that she knew nothing about life, especially in the outside world. And the third thing she learned was that her sneering, more-than-a-little-condescending thoughts about Tony Stark's abilities were so wrong, her professor laughed herself into an asthma attack.

Yes, Stark was arrogant and uncompromising about his intellect and abilities, but even the people who hated him acknowledged he had the right to be. Universities that specialized in computer science and any form of engineering dedicated at least one full semester to the man and his inventions. At the end of her fourth day of classes, Shuri returned to her private, off-campus apartment, curled up on her bed, and cried. She was gifted, yes, something that was readily acknowledge by her peers and professors . . . but she was also untrained, inexperienced, biased, and, robbed of vibranium, much too arrogant given the aforementioned faults. She had also shoved both feet so far in her mouth that she would be gagging on her shoes for days. She couldn't even build a decent standard alarm clock using readily-obtainable materials and her protests that at home, she could produce a working grandfather clock, complete with elegant design, had been met with sneers and laughter and the rather mocking reminder that vibranium wasn't freely available to the world outside Wakanda, princess, so she was going to have to slum it with the rest of them.

It was a drastic learning curve for the royals, and more than a little traumatic, and they were humbled and embarrassed quite a few times along the way. But they learned. More importantly, they learned well.

Sadly, that could not be said for Steve Rogers. He lost his trial in a truly epic fashion, where his defense consisted of, in no particular order: claiming that Wanda wanting revenge on Tony for the death of her parents via a bomb she thought was his but had no actual proof of that being true was completely different both from Peter blaming her for actually killing his parents, after torturing them for HYRDA, and Tony's selfishness in attacking Bucky in the heat of the moment and refusing to see that Bucky hadn't meant to murder the Starks, it had been HYRDA.

He also declared that Tony's violent response on seeing the video justified his decision not to tell him the truth about his parents, and aside from that, Tony was so childish and so desperate to be the center of attention that Steve didn't dare contact him when HYRDA's infiltration of SHIELD had been discovered, or even ask him to ground the helicarriers, because he would have bragged that he saved everyone instead of Steve, which would have defeated the purpose of giving Steve the mission to destroy HYDRA.

He never once realized that he failed in that mission.

When the defense rested, the jury set the world's third shortest record for a verdict, and most of that 17 minutes was due to assigning a foreman and getting the voting process set up in an officially-allowed format.

Rogers spent the 62 years he was in solitary confinement ranting about the corrupt governments who had imprisoned him to hide their own crimes, decrying Wanda's conviction and punishment, proclaiming Bucky's innocence, spewing justifications for his own actions, and denouncing Tony as a selfish puppet for the corrupt Accords. Despite being offered multiple opportunities to learn, he rejected every single one of them, before finally dying alone and ignorant.

His team wasn't much better. Lang made a plea deal before they got off the plane and Barton followed suit two years later, though he still privately cursed Tony's name, before and after his wife divorced him and his oldest child literally spit in his face before walking away. Romanova and Wilson got the same sentence as Rogers, albeit not as long, but when they were released 31 years (Wilson) and 40 years (Romanova) later, they also both cursed Tony Stark's name (which would have amused him to no end, had he known; he'd long since forgotten about them, aside from the rare mention in passing).

But when it was all said and done, even if they never fully understood the true meaning of the sentiment, Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, T'Challa, and Shuri learned the perils and dangers of underestimating not just Tony Stark, but the people who loved him.

Surprise.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Strange Bedfellows

From a very young age, Stephen Strange had certain set personality traits that had set him apart from his peers. While they had served him well in school and were the foundation of his ability to achieve goals most other people would have — and did, actually — consider impossible, there were undeniable drawbacks. Chief among those was that fact that they had prevented him from making friends or close acquaintances. But those traits also made Stephen extremely intolerant of stupidity, especially willful stupidity, and he could not bear to remain in the room with a person who rejoiced in ignorance.

But above all else, Stephen Strange absolutely despised people who claimed an arrogant superiority they had not earned or did not deserve. He himself was aware that his own arrogance was highly off-putting to most people, even if they conceded it was earned, which was the main reason he and Tony Stark either got along like a house on fire or were the impossible-to-remove splinter in the other man’s foot, depending on the moon’s proximity to Jupiter and whether or not both men had been sufficiently caffeinated.

(proving Stephen’s point, most people failed to realize that his ‘spats’ with Tony were for show; the pair greatly enjoyed bantering, screwing with people’s heads, and rejoicing in the pleasure of speaking with someone who was like-minded, smart enough, and educated enough to keep up with them. Hence, their snarking competitions: they got to indulge in all three without putting the vile little bastards known as ‘emotions’ into the mix. Thus, when anyone asked, no, they weren’t friends.

Hurt him and die.)

So it was a forgone conclusion that Stephen Strange, MD and Sorcerer Supreme, loathed Steve Rogers long before he had the misfortune to meet the man.

When that misfortune finally befell him, his feelings were quickly and firmly cemented. He would rather talk to Thor than deal with Steve Rogers. Now, he would admit to holding on to a tiny sliver of hope that his research was wrong and Stark was projecting due to his deep-seeded Daddy Issues (ugh, what a stupid name. Why must everything be infantilized?), but it took less than three minutes of listening to the fool pontificate to realize that yes, he was absolutely correct in his assessment of the man. In fact, his research hadn’t done Rogers nearly enough justice — and whoever had established the base information in the Captain America propaganda was an absolute genius at his job.

He was also a sadist who needed to be punished. Appropriately. In such a way that would traumatize him the way the rest of the world had suffered as a direct result of the pure fiction that made up his admittedly brilliant legend of Captain America.

Like, say, be forced to spend a day in solitary confinement with Rogers and being forbidden to agree with the man on anything, starting with the color of the sky.

Yes, that would be a good start.

But Stephen digressed.

He’d been more surprised than he should have been when Tony contacted him out of the literal blue — Stephen had been in the Blue Room, because the universe has a warped sense of humor — formally introduced himself, and then, with no preamble at all, asked if Stephen would be interested in helping him retrieve six extremely stupid, even more arrogant people who were already individual powerhouses, but when they joined together for a common cause, they created a force that could potentially destroy the planet. Given Stark’s reputation, Stephen was fully prepared to roll his eyes at the man’s hyperbole . . . until he caught a glimpse of a fading but still vivid scar peeking out below the waistband of his Doctor Who t-shirt (Ten and Rose; clearly the man had both taste and sense).

And stopped dead, both mentally and physically.

He knew exactly how Stark had gotten that surgical scar, and his memory decided to be helpful and remind him that the man had been completely out of sight for over five weeks . . . right after the very people he was asking Stephen to help capture had leveled an airport in Germany. Nine days later, Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross had been arrested on so many charges the media didn’t even bother trying to list them; a website/database was set up to allow people to satisfy their own curiosity and the list of charges to be updated without having to rehash them in every broadcast or every time a new one was announced. It was, Stephen considered with the aggravation that always accompanied being forced to deal with incompetence, one of the most efficient things the mainstream media had done in the last century.

Even for a government official, it was a truly impressive list of crimes, albeit appalling (what? Being a Master of the Mystic Arts didn’t render him immune to enjoying the occasional bout of drama, so long as he wasn’t involved). And it had Stark’s fingerprints all over it, despite his continued radio silence (he was half-right there; Tony had started the avalanche, but Pepper had placed the bomb and Rhodes had been the one to finally detonate it).

So, keeping these facts in mind, Stephen looked the other man straight in the eyes for a minute, reading and assessing what little Stark allowed him to see, though he was able to go quite a bit deeper than expected. Or wanted. But needs must, so Stephen wasted neither time nor effort on pleasantries that would only be annoying (for both of them) and simply studied one Anthony Edward Stark in silence.

He saw.

He saw the disbelief. The hurt. The betrayal. The anguish. The rage.

And he saw the shattered, bloodied shards of what could have been an unbreakable bond of brotherhood.

Being no stranger to betrayal, though not on this scale, and feeling the strong beginnings of personal respect for this man he’d just met — battered, bruised, and cracked, but defiantly undefeated — Stephen blinked to break the spell and nodded.

“Of course,” he replied, gesturing lazily and smiling when the Cloak of Levitation zoomed over to him — and promptly blinked, jaw dropping a little, when said Cloak paused in front of Stark and subjected him to the same scrutiny Stephen had just given him, though it only lasted a few seconds. Then the Cloak . . . flailed, for lack of a better word, and twisted itself into an infinity symbol before exploding back to its original shape and regarding Stark with what could only be called ‘wistful hope’. This puzzled Stephen, but Stark cleared it up before anyone could blink.

“Tony Stark,” he said with a slight bow, grinning when the Cloak offered him a corner so they could shake ‘hands’ and readily accepting, unabashedly delighted at meeting the Eastern Seaboard’s most exasperating sentient artifact. “And you are?”

This earned him a shrug, followed by a twirl (complete with spinning hem; Severus Snape would be jealous), and finished off with the unmistakable impression of ‘what do you think?’ that had Stark trying and failing to bite back a grin, while Stephen facepalmed over his artifact’s antics.

People called Stephen a drama queen, and they were often correct, but he had nothing on his Cloak.

Speaking of . . .

“Huh,” Stark said thoughtfully, rubbing a hand over his chin. “I could go for either Twister or Levi. Your twirl is awesome and it sucks you don’t have a mustache to complete the look, but ‘Twirl’ is just too Disney princess, you know?”

The Cloak nodded emphatically before twirling again. There was a short pause while everyone waited for . . . something, Stephen really couldn’t have said what, though the ridiculousness of the situation didn’t escape him, before the mischievous red material rose higher and higher, until it was taller than Stark. Another second of stillness ensued and the Cloak laid itself flat out over the man’s head, somehow managing to radiate satisfaction while serving as an (completely unnecessary) indoor umbrella. Stark slowly tipped his head back to study his impromptu, fabric mobile shade tree, and then he nodded.

“Levi it is,” he stated, smiling when that garnered another excited twirl (and now that Stark had mentioned it, Stephen could absolutely see the resemblance to more than a few Disney princesses), followed by a showy fall of fabric that ended with the Cloak — who was apparently now called Levi, which . . . sure. Why not? — draped over his shoulders. Now Stark looked remarkably like a certain prince of Asgard, minus the eyepatch and hammer, and Stephen was hard-pressed to bite down his snort of amusement.

To distract them both from a truly absurd situation, Stephen shook his head and forcibly refocused his attention to the original matter at hand.

“How do you know where they are?” he asked, genuinely curious. Yes, Stark was a genius, but no one else on the entire planet seemed able to locate them, so it was a touch strange (heh) that Stark did.

The man in question smirked, eyes filling with vindictive satisfaction so deep that Stephen immediately mentally promised himself never to get on the wrong side of it — up to and including Stark’s descent into villainy. He would doubtless have a good reason.

“All of them but the Ant guy have gear and/or weapons I designed and built,” he replied simply, making Stephen blink. They were talking about the Avengers. Surely they weren’t . . . they couldn’t possibly be that stupid. One or two, that was human nature. But all of them?!

Stark nodded at his appalled expression, his own face doing something complicated and veering between disgust and amusement. “Yeah,” he said. “They really are that stupid. And arrogant. And gullible, actually. They’re in Wakanda,” he explained in answer to Stephen’s raised eyebrow. “And doubtless believe that old myth about the place being completely hidden and undetectable and impenetrable.”

That last statement deserved a few puzzled blinks, which Stark was kind enough to ignore as he continued. “Of course, there’s no such thing. Good ways of hiding and deflecting? Absolutely. But you can’t make a country vanish that a) exists, b) is populated, and c) contains massive amounts of the most famous metal on the planet. The problem is that most people run into the first two or three roadblocks and firewalls and give up. And yeah, whoever designed and coded their security software is good. I’m better. And I have a lot more experience, both in actual life experience and in real-life application.”

“Of course,” Stephen murmured in understanding. “It’s like the difference in learning the proper technique for using a scalpel on a dummy versus a surgeon who’s operated on multiple, live people.”

Stark’s eyes lit with a spark of unfettered joy at having someone who could actually keep up with his thought processes, and Stephen sympathized. Manfully, they both ignored The Moment and moved on immediately.

“Precisely,” was all the other man said. “I’ve given T’Challa five weeks to man up, king up, grow into Mufasa, or whatever the hell you want to call it — basically, I’ve given him more than enough time to turn the group over to the UN. Or, barring that, at least tell the world where they are. But he hasn’t, which means he’s sheltering them for some dumbass reason. He probably offered Barnes a place to hide since he realized he was wrong about the man killing his dad and has shown that he has a very convenient, very flexible definition of ‘honor’. And since Rogers will destroy the planet before letting his BFF out of his sight, he undoubtedly bullied his way in, and brought the rest of them as a security blanket, since I have the shield now and Barnes’ brain is a few steps below mush and Rogers can’t function without someone either fawning over him or telling him how wonderful he is. And no, I’m not joking. I wish to God I was. I should have seen it y—well. Yes.”

Once Stark tapered off into a stony silence, they both stood there for a very awkward moment while Stephen parsed through that disjointed deluge of information, but once he felt he had a grasp on the basics, he managed to contain his response to three slow blinks and an equally slow nod. He was also grateful beyond words that Wong had gotten curious about the powers Wanda Maximoff so freely — worse, and highly offensively to Wong’s moral code, so destructively — used, and had researched them and her with meticulous thoroughness. He’d been horrified by his findings, as had Stephen, and they had taken a few hours to develop a way to contain her abilities that should work, assuming their research was accurate.

Barring that, tranquilizing her so Stephen could drop her into a different dimension would suffice. Speaking of . . . he gave the man a quick onceover, only to frown when he saw no sign of weapons or containment units. A matching frown met his gaze when he glanced up and Stark said, “What’s that look for?”

Stephen cleared his throat and, with his usual bluntness, said, “I had assumed you would come equipped with the items needed to contain or subdue them.”

Understanding lit that brilliant brown gaze and Stark nodded. “I did; they’re just in my car.”

Well, that made sense. Feeling vaguely foolish, since Stark really had no way of knowing that Stephen could open a portal to most places, he said only, “Of course. I should have realized.” This was waved off with another understanding smile, which Stephen returned before making a slight change of subject. “I assume you have coordinates for the group?”

His easy acceptance of both Stark’s preparedness and competence earned him a few slow blinks in return, his eyes clearly full of shock and gratitude that seemed almost — almost desperate, something that would anger him later, after he’d been exposed to the Rogues and also had time to really think about Stark’s genuine surprise. Still, the man recovered quickly and nodded, pulling out his phone and doing something that resulted in a blue hologram showing latitude and longitude, the projected estimation of Wakanda’s terrain, and several spots highlighted in a truly offensive acid pink.

In an impressive display of self-control, Stephen said nothing about the color choice; he understood petty retaliation all-too-well and in this case, it was definitely warranted. He simply studied the data intently until he was satisfied he could open a portal safely in the building, since he had the literal location of their weapons (and likely their actual bodies as well), then turned to Stark. “Shall we go?” he asked, and got a surprised look that was instantly replaced with a feral intensity that Stephen had never personally experienced . . . and wasn’t sure he ever wanted to.

Being a hunter wasn’t really part of his character, despite Christine’s numerous (and pointed) remarks about how much he had in common with cats, personality-wise (he would never admit to liking the comparison; cats were curious, intelligent, and aloof, but had somehow managed to enthrall what seemed to be the vast majority of humanity. Even people who didn’t like cats had to admit it was impressive).

His vague disquiet at Stark’s obvious glee at the prospect of capturing his former teammates faded under the anticipation of seeing his face when he realized Stephen had instant transportation from here to there and back again (that reminded him; he needed to reread The Hobbit soon) and he cleared his throat, catching the man’s complete attention.

“If you’ll fetch the items you need, I’ll do the same,” he began, summoning the Cloak — Levi — with a firm wave and watching with thinly-veiled amusement as Stark tried and failed to hide his confusion.

“I—” he began, but Stephen took pity on him and explained further. As much fun as tweaking the man would probably be, now wasn’t the time.

“I have a much faster method of transportation,” he told Stark, nodding at the speculative look his words evoked. “And that is fortunate, because it will drastically reduce their chances of escape.” He stopped for a split second of mental debate before deciding to unleash his inner sardonic asshole (not to be confused with his inner sarcastic asshole). “It will also confound the Wakandans, as they will know only that a group of trouble-making terrorists disappeared from their invisible, impenetrable palace with no warning and no trace.”

Stark’s eyes lit with malicious glee that made Stephen swallow, though he wasn’t concerned, either for himself or the people they were going to capture. Stark wanted revenge, sure, and wouldn’t object to some deep bruising and broken bones in the process . . . but most of all, he wanted them to suffer. And life in prison, ignored and forgotten, for people as entitled and fame-hungry as this group? That would be the ultimate form of suffering. Stephen was now fairly sure he understood the gist of what had happened, but seeing Stark sporting a scar that could only have resulted from recent open-heart surgery, coupled with his bitter statement about Rogers no longer having his shield, explained most of the rest. He didn’t know what had sparked that fight, and probably never would, but it was clear that Rogers had hurt Stark badly.

Only . . . it was equally obvious that the physical damage was the least of that hurt. Also, given that Stark was not only walking around, but out of the hospital so soon, meant Helen Cho and her Cradle (another piece of medical tech Stephen was aching to explore and — oh. This might be his opportunity to make the request of Stark, assuming things went well) were likely involved. And as cold as it sounded, this wasn’t the first time Stark had been badly injured by his enemies. Physical pain would heal, or one could at least become accustomed to it, but mental pain? Emotional trauma?

Well. Yes.

And since Stephen, being an intelligent man who was experienced in the ways of the world, agreed with the necessity of the Accords, he had no qualms about helping capture a group of people who had literally spit on the idea of accountability to almost the entirety of the world’s population and caused incalculable death and destruction while throwing their tantrum — and throwing their backer, their benefactor, and their reason for being able to function as a group for so long to the wolves. Then, to add injury to insult, they had the unmitigated gall to blame him for their actions.

No, Stephen didn’t know Tony Stark personally, but he had done his research there, too. It was why he knew they would likely end up being either very good friends or bitter, vicious enemies.

It was also why he knew just how much respect Stark was affording him now. It was true that with Rhodes in the hospital for the foreseeable future and the android (cyborg? No one seemed to know, which was frustrating) Vision still relatively untested and inexperienced, his options for people he knew were thin. But he could have gone to the X-Men, or even Magneto and his group. There were several bruisers in Hell’s Kitchen and surrounding areas who could have helped him . . . but he’d chosen Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. Because he trusted Stephen’s abilities and integrity.

So no, Stephen had no qualms about assisting him. The Rogues were dangerous, arrogant children. Worse, they were unstable. And they had no self-control at all. If they wanted something or felt threatened, not a single one of them had a problem with taking out anything that stood between them and their goal.

Or anyone.

Shaking himself free of his ruminations, Stephen hurried to the safe hidden in the Vault and retrieved the collar and wristlets he and Wong had devised for Maximoff. Then he took a quick detour to the Dungeon and gathered the four sets of shackles there as a precaution before making his way back to the main room. He arrived just as Stark came in the door, a manic gleam in his eyes and a bulky black case in each hand.

They stared at each other for a minute in silence, neither of them knowing quite what to say, and Stephen had the slightly-hysterical thought that this would probably earn a place in the Guinness Book of World Records: as The Moment where Anthony Edward Stark and Stephen Vincent Strange were rendered utterly mute for no discernable reason.

When Stark’s lips twitched, Stephen knew they were sharing the thought and he let himself grin in response. The tension was broken and Stark nodded at him, clearly indicating he should take the lead, given he was in charge of transportation.

“Did you bring your suit?” he asked first, grin widening when Cloak — ah, Levi — twitched on his shoulders and lifted up, clearly eager to see that. Stephen made no attempt to reprimand him, since he was just as eager; the sheer brilliance behind the Iron Man suit was enough on its own to ensnare the interest of any intelligent person, but getting to see it live and up close?

Oh, hell, yes.

Shaking his head, Stark chuffed out a laugh and set both cases on the floor, knelt down, and pressed his hand on a random spot on the top of the one with gold accents. One soft whirr, an equally soft beep, and a faint click later, he stood up and took a relaxed pose.

And allowed himself to be fully immersed in the most impressive, powerful piece of technology mankind had ever seen and likely wouldn’t see again for another century.

If Stephen hadn’t possessed such ironclad self-control, he might well have orgasmed on the spot from the sheer, breathtaking elegant beauty of it. Still, given the choice, he’d rather dig into the Cradle, though it was a close race.

But he was digressing again.

And he refused to fangirl in front of anyone, regardless of how deserving they might be.

“Impressive,” was what he chose to go with. And if a knowing gleam lit the other man’s eyes, well, so what? If they pretended it wasn’t there, then it didn’t happen.

“I know,” was the only response Stephen got, which was fair.

He nodded. “Ready, then?” he asked, watching curiously as Stark leaned over with no signs of hesitation or loss of flexibility and picked up both cases. Given how bulky the suit appeared, that was yet another example of the man’s engineering genius, and Stephen watched with increasing awe as he strolled to a corner and tucked the empty case into a space it couldn’t easily be seen, marveling again at the raw genius that had gone into not just the design, but the actual physical product. What Stark had achieved shouldn’t be possible, and yet here he was, defying several laws of physics — and after nearly a decade, he remained the only person who had successfully created and built anything remotely similar (other than that Vanko person, but since he’d stolen the idea from Tony and the arc reactor design from Howard, that didn’t count). His genius deserved to be appreciated without resentment or mockery, and Stephen did exactly that.

But just for a few seconds. As unfair as it was, they didn’t have time to actually get to know each other right now. Their first meeting should have taken place under much different circumstances, but life was rarely that kind or considerate, so Stephen mentally flipped life off and squared his shoulders. Stark nodded back at him, looking oddly tense, and lowered his faceplate. Once it locked in place, Stephen took a deep breath, flexed his fingers, and nodded back.

Then he turned to the empty space to his left, summoned his powers, and, in his own impressive display, opened a portal to the Wakandan palace in a swirl of orange, set off by flashes of white and gold.

He couldn’t see Stark’s face, but the angle of his head told him the man was both intrigued and impressed, and he allowed himself a tiny smirk of pride before saying only, “Let’s go.”

Then he looked through the portal and stared, mouth hanging open at the sight.

Dear heaven, it was tacky. Gaudy, bright colors and splashy designs of forests and cats were everywhere, but the artist had clearly never heard of subtlety and wasn’t aware there were softer, darker colors available, despite the frequent use of black to represent the cats.

“Ugh,” Stark whispered. “It looks like a kindergarten class got sick in here. Picasso’s stuff looks better and he was on LSD when he painted. Hell, I’ve seen guys drunk off their ass throw random cans of paint on stuff and it looked better than this.”

. . . that was an extremely accurate description, and Stephen laughed softly in response before movement caught his eye and he looked more closely. It was a man, standing with his back to them and futzing with . . . an arrow? . . . and unaware of their presence. He and Stark exchanged a quick look before Stephen stepped through the portal, hands raised in preparation to cast a sleep spell, when a dart suddenly whizzed past his ear and sank into the man’s neck with impressive accuracy.

Well, that worked too.

But his collapse warned the others, who were seated in some kind of living room, and they all turned in alarm. However, not only were they all unarmed, but Tony Stark was a man on a mission. It took less than four seconds for him to take out everyone but Rogers and Maximoff, and that’s where Stephen came in. He did appreciate Stark’s desire to take down Rogers himself, and doubtless he was prepared for the man, but the witch was too dangerous and they couldn’t risk Rogers’ enhancements throwing their timing off. So he simply cast the most powerful sleep spell he could muster at the man, watching with satisfaction when the walking steroid managed one step before falling flat on his face, bloodying his nose in the process. Stark was unable to suppress a cackle of pure glee, and Stephen smirked.

That had been more enjoyable than he’d expected and he made a mental note to suggest including this kind of play—training with Wong.

In the meantime, they still had to deal with the witch, who had wasted her only chance at pure offense in favor of gawping at them, and both men took full advantage. Stark fired three tranqs at her, all of which she deflected using her ugly red powers (like hell was he, the Sorcerer Supreme, going to give those nasty abominations the title of ‘magic’), but that left her wide open for Stephen’s own sleep spell. He wasn’t surprised when it made her groggy but didn’t knock her out, given what their research had shown, but he was surprised when Stark fired another tranq literally one second before he flew forward and slammed his gauntleted fist into her chest, using a downward angle that dropped her flat on her back before anyone could blink. The force of her head’s collision with the equally-gaudy tile floor knocked her unconscious, thus clearing up Stephen’s confusion as to why Stark had chosen that particular method, though he suspected there was more at work here than simply taking out an opponent.

Still, the takedown had been efficient, smooth, and fast. Given how little planning the pair had collectively put into this, Stephen was impressed. Not too much, mind; he knew very well how capable he was and Stark’s competence could not be doubted, but still. This had gone extremely well, he realized and considered this a promising sign for future teamwork as he cuffed and collared the woman while Stark shackled Rogers, his face dark but his hands unnervingly gentle, and they split the other four.

As they unceremoniously tossed the group back through the portal, Stephen found himself curious as to the inner workings of the minds of these people. The neurosurgeon in him was anxious to discover what possible brain maladies could exist that would cause a group who had possessed everything they could have ever wanted to throw it away, and in such a spectacularly bad fashion. The sorcerer wanted to know if there was any outside magical assistance to cause such moronic, self-destructive behavior.

And the man needed to see if such blind idiocy was the result of groupthink, lies, plain stupidity, or some unholy combination thereof.

All of which led him here: standing in the corridor connecting their cells two days later, and debating if he truly wants to force reality on them by way of a virtual trip down memory lane. All of their memory lanes. The main reason he is still vacillating is because the best way to have safe and fair trials is being hashed out, leaving everyone in a holding pattern. Tony had informed the UN the next morning, once he and Stephen had assured themselves that the Wakandans not only had no clue who had done it, but were also flailing between unleashing their indignation on the world at having their supposed impenetrable security so egregiously breached and acting like none of it had ever happened so as to save face and pretend they were still honorable people.

Given Stephen’s ability to open portals at will, he and Wong had gotten several unobserved front-row seats to some truly hilarious rants and tantrums (which Wong, being the sneaky, morally-upright sorcerer that he was, had recorded for Stark; the man deserved to see them, and not just for the entertainment factor). It hadn’t taken long for one of their own sorcerers to suggest magic, but nothing came of it, since they were unable to track Stephen’s trail and, after many . . . discussions . . . they had finally decided to act as though no one in Wakanda had ever heard of Steve Rogers, much less his merry band of followers.

For some reason, it never occurred to anyone that the presence of James Barnes would shatter that lie like glass, but who were the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj to help them solve a self-inflicted problem?

All of which leaves Stephen Strange here: staring thoughtfully at the cell block after two days of silent, unseen observation. It has been . . . illuminating.

None of the so-called Rogues knew he was there, but they all correctly assumed they were being recorded, so everyone but Romanova had aired their grievances at the top of their lungs (Barton’s language was both impressive and appalling, while the Witch was as articulate as a toddler, right down to stomping her feet as she screamed). But it is Sam Wilson who is Stephen’s current target, as he is ranting about Stark’s arrogance, selfishness, and general assholery after Wilson had trusted him to keep his word and go after Rogers as a friend, to help. At the mention of the walking steroid, Stephen gives him a quick, vaguely curious glance, only to pause when he sees a bright flare of panic cross those blue eyes.

Well. The bastard is clearly hiding something to do with Tony Stark, something his team doesn’t know about. Isn’t that interesting?

And it makes up the Sorcerer Supreme’s mind. Without another second of hesitation, he pulls out the Eye of Agamotto, takes two deep breaths to center himself, and asks the Time Stone to take all seven of them back to a week just after the 2012 invasion, focusing on Rogers. He chooses that particular date for three reasons: one, because it was the first time all six individual members of the Avengers had come together. Several first meetings were had and the beginnings of bonds and alliances were formed — or destroyed — in the midst of that battle.

Two: no one had heard anything more about the main invasion fleet, despite the hysteria accompanying the scouting party, and he had always found that more than a little odd. Even taking into account the government’s desire ‘not to panic the people’, there would have been leaks and rumors.

But only if things were seriously being talked about and considered.

Which led to the final reason: Tony Stark.

Given Stephen’s knowledge of Tony Stark, both what he’d researched and observed from a distance, and what he’d learned over the last two days, he has no doubt whatsoever the man had been telling everyone he could think of that there was another invasion coming. Therefore, it stood to reason that somebody, somewhere, has been actively thwarting his efforts. And given everything he’d seen and heard, Rogers was the likely culprit.

However, he’d had help in his efforts, assuming Stephen was right and not doing the man a massive disservice. To begin with, Rogers wouldn’t have had the contacts necessary to stop someone as powerful and influential as Tony Stark, much less the means to accomplish that goal. And, frankly, he wasn’t smart enough. Stonewalling Stark would take a level of tactical planning and influence very few people possessed, and Rogers was not one of them — but he knew people who were, people who were also unscrupulous, duplicitous, venal, and desperate to control one of the most powerful men in the world.

On top of that, Rogers being the figurehead driving the effort makes sense; the man has a hero complex that makes Napoleon look humble, and his inferiority issues will leave Stephen gasping in horror for years. For the life of him, he cannot begin to fathom why anyone would think giving the man the power and responsibility of taking care of a single goldfish was a good idea, never mind putting him in charge of the Avengers.

And Stephen fully intends to get that answer, because the world deserves to know, but now isn’t the time. No. No, now it’s time to show these arrogant sycophants the disturbing truth about the man they so blindly followed — and the honest, untainted truth about the man they all used as a scapegoat, even as they demanded his time, effort, and money.

The best part? They would also learn the horrifying truth about themselves. Stephen might have cackled like he was auditioning for Young Frankenstein at the thought, and then the Time Stone activates and sweeps them all into a live-action, Technicolor vision of the past.

None of the Rogues have a clue what was happening when their surroundings suddenly disappear, replaced with — hold on, what is this?

An ominous, swirling maelstrom has torn a hole in the sky and it is rapidly approaching. Stephen flinches back, terrified for no reason he can name, only to blink when he hears a vaguely familiar voice say, “Sir. Would you like me to call Ms. Potts?”

A beat of silence and then, “Might as well.”

That . . . that’s Tony’s voice. Wh—oh. This is the portal over New York, back in 2012. They are seeing what he saw.

Oh, clever, brilliant, diabolical Time Stone!

Stephen’s teeth ache and his whole body goes cold when Tony flies through the portal and is immediately accosted with a bird’s eye view of a massive, literal armada of ships. He manages to recover from his horror and launch the nuke, just before the male voice splutters out, the suit goes dark, and then so does Tony’s view as the cold vastness of space overtakes him.

He falls.

**flash**

Their surroundings have changed to a dull grey conference room, occupied by Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanova, a black man with an eyepatch, and another woman. All of them are watching and listening to Rogers, who is mid-sentence and waving his arms as he paces.

“—n’t keep letting Stark talk to the military, Fury! He’s always taking the spotlight away from me by claiming he stopped the attack and now he’s fear-mongering about this supposed ‘next invasion’ because he thinks taking that nuke into space makes him more qualified to lead this team than me. Also, Nat says there’s no way there’s another army and I agree. If there was one, we’d have seen it by now. But I can’t keep having him undermining me by insisting to people that I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Rogers stops, panting a little, and Romanova nods. “He’s right, Director. Stark’s ego is blowing up because you asked him to deal with the nuke and he did, and he’s trying to panic people so they’ll keep looking to him for answers. SHIELD needs to put a stop to it as soon as possible, or Stark will get dangerously out of control.”

The man — presumably Director Fury — looks pensive for a few minutes before he nods and says, “I agree. We’ll start talking to the people Stark hasn’t gotten to yet and make sure they know we aren’t worried, so they shouldn’t be. The US military establishment is still pissed about him stopping weapons production, which means they’ll be more inclined to blow him off, and since we’re the authority on extraterrestrial and enhanced threats, they’ll listen to us when we say everything is fine. Just make sure you keep cutting Stark off at the knees closer to home, keep him distracted, and we’ll do the rest.”

Well. That was certainly damning, Stephen considers with no small amount of anger, as the image freezes. And it explains much — for instance, how much damage Romanova’s gaslighting Tony about seeing that massive alien fleet had screwed with his head and made his PTSD nearly kill him, because he wasn’t able to believe his own senses, thanks to her relentless manipulative assaults. And then SHIELD piled their lies on top of it, telling everyone Tony could even think to talk to that planning for the next one was nothing but Stark crying wolf, there was no invasion because if anyone would know, it would be SHIELD. And since they said there wasn’t one, clearly Stark was trying to incite hysteria to further his own goals.

Infuriatingly, very few people ever registered that Tony had no goals or ulterior motives when it came to preparing for the next invasion — because, despite SHIELD’s utter secrecy and lack of transparency and accountability, plus Tony himself being a public figure whose trustworthiness in business could not be doubted, never mind his established success as Iron Man, people still preferred to trust a so-called ‘government agency’ than give him the well-earned benefit of the doubt. And God forbid they think for themselves. Fortunately, there were a few people and institutions that were willing to listen, verify, and trust, so the earth wasn’t completely undefended, but it was a far cry from what it should have been.

Seeing the live-action replay of how corrupt SHIELD was, and how willing they were to destroy the planet in an effort to control one man, no matter how powerful and influential, makes Stephen actually froth with rage. It is a very, very good thing this had already happened or he might well have violated his oath to do no harm.

A faint, foreign jolt of alarm pings the back of his mind and he blows out a deep breath, accepting the Time Stone’s warning for what it is.

Time to move on. The Rogues don’t need time to really think about what they were discovering; well, not yet. Hitting them hard and fast with the information will keep them off-guard, which will in turn stop them from digging in their heels and refusing to accept what they were seeing and hearing. They will have plenty of time to consider once the full depths of their treachery are revealed.

<<Take us to the next moment they genuinely betrayed Stark >> he thinks to the Time Stone, which hums in his mind for several seconds before their surroundings shimmer and reform to a restaurant Stephen recognizes and strongly dislikes. The food is outrageously expensive (appetizers for 4 start at $500) and just as outrageously subpar (Stephen has eaten tastier cardboard. Literally), the staff is both snooty and incompetent, and parking is a nightmare on a good day, but the place can only safely be reached by car.

So how could Rogers, Romanova, and Barton afford to eat there?

“No, Stark. We can’t just drop everything to come save your ass because you were stupid enough to challenge a terrorist and got in over your head. Next time, don’t let your ego pick a fight you can’t win.”

Romanova hangs up her phone and gives it an exasperated look as Barton snorts.

“Really?” he drawls. “Stark thinks we’re gonna rescue him from his own arrogance? That’s cute.” He takes a huge bite, is unable to chew it, and quickly washes it down with several gulps of wine that makes Stephen wince on principle. Did these heathens have no table manners at all? “Well, maybe this will knock him down a few pegs. I’m sick of listening to him brag about how smart her is and how much better his tech is than SHIELD’s. Sure, it’s good, but it’s not that good.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, taking his own too-big bite. “He brags about everything. And he’s always showing off in public at press conferences and stuff. Howard wasn’t anything like that; he’d be ashamed. I just don’t understand how Tony is such a child. And he doesn’t respect anyone.”

“No kidding,” Barton agrees, swigging the last of his wine. “Calling us out of nowhere to ask for help to fix something he broke. What a douche.”

“That’s enough about Stark. We have a show to get to,” Romavona says firmly, signaling the waiter. When he arrived, she says, “Tony Stark has a card on file and this is an official Avengers meal. Charge this to it, please.”

What the — did he actually see that? Did Tony’s team just refuse to help him, degrade him, and steal from him, all in the span of five minutes?

This realization leaves Stephen breathless for nearly a full minute, and so disgusted he is queasy. He — they — he doesn’t know how to begin to process that, but it kills the last sliver of uncertainty about whether this is a good idea, or advisable. Forget ‘advisable’ and ‘good idea’ is in the eye of the beholder. Showing these assholes the truth is a necessity and Stephen is going to enjoy every last second of watching their glass house disintegrate.

Before he can build himself up to a good head of steam and wreck the delicate balance he is currently maintaining, the Time Stone decides to show off its sentience and ability for individual thought and swirls them all into the next memory — but it isn’t one Stephen would have guessed in a hundred years

”Everything comes full circle,” Tony says, looking down at the table before the view shifts to reveal . . . Bruce Banner. Who is asleep, his chin resting on his chest. Unaware of this, Tony keeps talking. “And the fact that you’ve been able to — help me process . . .” He pauses when Bruce rubs his eyes. “Are you with me?”

“Sorry . . . I was, yeah. We were at, uh . . .” Banner tries, only to falter, and Tony blinks.

“Are you actively napping?” he asks, sounding incredulous, and the other man doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, though he does offer a half-assed excuse.

“I was . . . I . . . I drifted,” he stammers, and Tony visibly holds back a sigh.

“Where did I lose you?”

He sounds resigned, though Banner doesn’t seem to hear it, and instead looks sheepish as he answers, “Elevator in Switzerland.”

“So, you heard none of it?” Tony clarifies, looking and sounding hurt now, and Banner grimaces.

“I'm sorry. I'm not that kind of doctor. I'm not a therapist. It's not my training,” he whines to justify not just his failure to listen to a man who is trying hard to be his friend, but his complete lack of reciprocation.

Tony gives him an even look and says, “So?”

He’s still hurt, but starting to hide it; he knows that he will get no help or consideration here.

Oblivious to this, Banner protests, “I don't have the—”

“—what? The time?” Tony interrupts, still visibly irritated, and that finally makes Banner notice, if only for a few seconds, and not enough for him to feel any actual remorse.

“Temperament,” he corrects softly.

Once again, Stephen is furious on Tony’s behalf, but he’s also disgusted with these people’s complete lack of moral fiber as a whole. Falling asleep while the man was talking was beyond rude, especially since there was no way Banner wasn’t aware he was that tired. Doing so to someone who badly needed to talk but could not trust a licensed therapist?

(Stephen well-remembered that scandal; the medical community as a whole had been outraged on Tony’s behalf)

That was beyond despicable. This single instance kills any personal admiration Stephen felt for the man; he still appreciates his intellect on a purely academic level, but if he ever meets Bruce Banner, he is going to portal him to the Arctic — no. He’ll drop the whiny, self-absorbed bastard in Siberia.

The Stone clearly dislikes this train of thought because it acts immediately and the scene changes again.

“Watch out for Stark,” Romanova tells Rogers after watching him poke dispiritedly at a laptop on the small desk in his SHIELD quarters, grumbling about how extravagant and unnecessary all this technology is, what’s wrong with a simple phone or paper and pen. He is clearly having trouble with whatever he’s trying to do, but she doesn’t offer to help.

Puzzled, he pauses and turns to face her. “Why?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Because he’s used to being in the spotlight and he doesn’t like it when he’s usurped, especially by someone like you, who’s a good man, a nice person, someone who doesn’t want to be there. So he’ll probably offer to pay for college or tutors for you, so you can ‘learn about the world’ and be out of the public’s eye in the process. He might even offer a new laptop and cell phone just to show off,” she explains, pulling a frown to Rogers’ mouth. He clearly dislikes the thought, but before he can ask a question, she nods, pats him on the shoulder, and leaves.

**flash**

Tony and Rogers are standing in the latter’s apartment, which is tiny, cramped, and lacking a working elevator in the building. Tony is giving it an appraising look that isn’t quite judgmental, but it is definitely surprised, and Rogers bristles when he sees it. But he has no chance to defend his new home before Tony says, “So, now that you’re settled in on the outside world, I was wondering if you might be interested in taking some community college classes, either on your own or through SI’s program.”

Rogers’ spine goes ramrod stiff and he narrows his eyes at Tony, giving him a hostile look that makes his eyebrows lift. “Why?” he demands, voice heavy with suspicion, and Stark blinks twice.

“Uh, to help you get better acclimated to the world,” he replies slowly, his own shoulders tensing a little. “A lot has changed in the last seven decades and a structured class is the best way to learn that much new information. And it’ll help you with . . . socializing, meeting people outside of SHIELD. They’re okay people, don’t get me wrong, but they aren’t exactly your standard 9-5 workers. You know?”

For several minutes, Rogers says nothing. He merely looks at Tony, clearly displeased, and the other man frowns back, obviously unsure about his reaction. Carefully, he offers to provide tutors instead, if that’s what Steve would prefer, as well as a new phone and laptop, and that finally elicits a response.

“No, thank you,” Rogers says in clipped tones, straightening his shoulders even more. “I don’t need to sit in a classroom to learn how the world works, I’m not going to live my life on some fancy gadget, and I can meet people just fine on my own.”

Tony blinks again as he absorbs this, then shrugs. His casual acceptance might or might not be as easy as it seems, but he gives no argument and doesn’t try to convince Rogers, and when an offer of lunch is brusquely declined, he simply shrugs again and takes his leave.

Once he is safely out of earshot, Rogers huffs and calls Romanova, thanking her for warning him about Stark’s attempts to buy him off and restrict his ability to meet the general public. Her voice is warm when she reassures him it was no problem, she was glad to help, but the Time Stone shows a view of her smug, satisfied smile as the call ends and she turns to Fury, telling him it worked: so far, Rogers isn’t interested in learning about his new world on his own, and he will not allow Stark to help him get acclimated to the 21^st century either. Fury’s return smile is just as satisfied and cold as hers, and his final words are alarming.

“Excellent. You know what to do now.”

Hers are chilling.

“Of course,” she purrs. “One compliant, super solider figurehead, coming up.”

**flash**

Two men and two women, one of whom is Sharon Carter, are standing in Fury’s office, with Hill in attendance.

“Is that your general consensus?” the director of SHIELD asks, looking disgruntled, and they all nod.

“Yes, Sir,” not-Carter replies. “He’s been out in the world for seven months and has done literally nothing to learn more than the basics of what he needs to survive. He got a library card maybe four months ago, but the only thing he reads are WWII history books and if they don’t talk about the Howling Commandos, he puts them back. He doesn’t have a TV, refuses to learn how to use the cell phone we gave him — he can’t even text and hates getting them — and our software tracker shows the only web searches he does are for the Howlies and Peggy Carter.”

The blond man nods and adds, “He’s also not interested in getting out and meeting people. We’ve all tried inviting him for a drink or offering to share a homemade meal or even just going to a movie or for a run and he’s refused them all. I thought at first that he’d pegged us as SHIELD, but he doesn’t socialize with anyone. He’s been hit on so many times at the library, it’s sad, and he’s oblivious. I mean, he politely refuses, but that’s it. He hasn’t introduced himself to a single new person. You and Romanova are the only people he really talks to, unless Stark pushes things. And he’s only done that twice that I know of.”

“It’s disturbing,” Carter interjects. “I get being anti-social, Aunt Peggy said he was never the outgoing sort, but this complete withdrawal is not good. As it stands, he’ll never be able to go on any missions that don’t include Romanova because he doesn’t know how to interact with people and he really doesn’t want to learn. He’s had literally every approach in the book tried on him, either by us or random people on the street, and not a single one has worked. He just doesn’t want to know. And he is alarmingly unconcerned with getting up to speed about the world itself. I don’t actually think he could tell you the president’s name, and I know for a fact that he thinks Pepper Potts is nothing but Stark’s secretary.”

This elicits a snort from Fury, who asks, “How did you keep from kneeing him the balls?”

A dark scowl is his answer, paired with a snippy, “He doesn’t know I heard him.”

The bearded man steps forward and says, “That’s a problem. He’s not interested in learning anything and we can’t force him to, unless you want us to kidnap him and force him through a Civics course while he’s tied up in a dunge—”

“No,” Fury cuts him off. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll have Hill and Romanova set something up in a few weeks. Your efforts are appreciated, but you can stand down to Watch Level 2. Keep an eye out, but from a distance unless there’s a problem or a genuine threat.”

All four agents nod and file out, leaving Fury and Hill alone . . . until a shadow moves from the corner, showing that Natasha Romanova has been there the entire time.

“Well, that’s promising,” she remarks, settling herself in the chair by the wall. “I was worried we might have to hold him back, but this is definitely easier.”

“Hmm,” is Fury’s agreement. “Keep doing what you’re doing. He’s useful on STRIKE missions as a battering ram, but only as long as he thinks you need his ‘strategic brilliance’.”

Up to that point, Hill has looked . . . contemplative . . . but she scoffs at that, and is given matching nods from the other two, indicating their opinion of said brilliance before Romanova takes her leave.

Stephen isn’t surprised by this, but he is disgusted. Secrecy has its place, of course, and, unfortunately, so does manipulation at times — but what these two in particular have done cannot be justified. Seeing this makes it clear exactly why no one in SHIELD realized HYDRA was working next to them, but he can’t find it in himself to feel sorry for them, because the reason they didn’t notice was their complete, matching lack of empathy, consideration, morals, ethics, or even common decency. It doesn’t mean they deserved what Romanova and Rogers did to them, but it is difficult to drum up genuine sympathy.

Thankfully, the Time Stone senses his anger is again building up and sweeps them away.

What it shows next is where the slippery slope becomes a vertical drop, with no stairs and only one handhold. From this point, there is a single chance to come back, to stop the destruction that is coming, or at least mitigate it. But no one is aware of this, and very few people would change things even if they did know.

Rogers has proven that in spades, and so has Romanova.

Steve Rogers has just met Sam Wilson for the first time. They run together for a little while, trading friendly but impersonal insults, before Wilson calls him out on not sleeping. A surprisingly detailed conversation about war and its affects ensues, though it is derailed when Rogers says he has been reading to catch up. Wilson suggests that he listen to Marvin Gaye’s Troubled Man soundtrack, as it has everything Rogers needs jammed into one album.

“I’ll put it on the list,” the man in question replies, pulling out a small notebook and jotting Wilson’s recommendation down. Also on this list are I Love Lucy (television); moon landing; Berlin Wall (Up + Down) Steve Jobs (Apple); Disco; Thai Food; Star Wars/Trek (with Star Wars crossed out, indicating that he has seen it); Nirvana (Band); Rocky (Rocky II?).

Then he gets a text advising him of a mission before Romanova arrives to pick him up. He and Wilson banter a little more before he and Romanova head off, leaving Wilson behind, watching.

**flash**

Rogers has obviously just finished fighting, while Romanova is cool and collected, standing at a computer terminal without a care. She reveals, with no remorse or apology, that her assignment was to save SHIELD data instead of his mission of rescuing hostages. He is not happy, but says little more to her about it after she praises his skills and actions.

**flash**

Rogers is berating Nick Fury about sending Romanova on a sub-mission he wasn’t aware of. Fury, unconcerned with his anger, informs Rogers that he isn’t obligated to share anything and is unmoved at his complaint that a good team cannot function if they don’t trust each other. Then Fury, overriding Rogers’ SHIELD-acknowledged lack of a high enough security clearance, shows him Project Insight, where he admits that Tony Stark had considerable consultation about the design and construction of the helicarriers. If Rogers is curious, he hides it well and asks no questions about the project; instead, he wants to know when his next SHIELD mission will be.

Once he leaves Fury, Rogers visits the Smithsonian and loses himself in nostalgia over the glory of his past as Captain America and his lost life as Peggy Carter’s husband. Then he visits her in a nursing home and lets her tell him how wonderful he is and how he’s fixing the world they — she — mucked up.

**flash**

Rogers and Nick Fury are in the former’s apartment, where Fury gives him a flash drive and tells him SHIELD is compromised and to trust no one before apparently being assassinated. His neighbor, Sharon Carter, reveals that she is a SHIELD agent ‘watching’ Steve at Fury’s orders.

**flash**

After Fury is confirmed dead, Rogers hides the USB drive in a vending machine before following the agent sent to escort him to SHIELD.

Once there, he meets Alexander Pierce. He does not seem to be remotely suspicious of the man, though he does limit the information he shares. Shortly thereafter, he escapes SHIELD’s attempt to kill him, downing a quinjet in the process and killing everyone aboard.

**flash**

The USB drive is gone.

Romanova has taken it and taunts Steve with his poor choice of hiding place, before the two engage in a verbal game of cat and mouse. Then Romanova states that she only ‘acts like she knows everything’ before admitting she knows who killed Fury: the Winter Soldier.

She offers no further info on this mysterious person, instead turning his attention to the flash drive.

“You know, our best for getting this info is Stark,” she says, albeit reluctantly and with strong distaste in her voice. A faintly puzzled look crosses her face when he instantly shakes his head.

“No. He’ll showboat and grandstand and brag about us needing his help and make everything about him and we can’t afford that. Whatever this is, it’s big and Fury told me not to trust anyone,” he replies with a frown.

Romanova considers that for a minute, then shrugs. “Fine. I don’t want to deal with his ego either and he’s not as good at hacking as he thinks. I’ve gotten into his system and SHIELD has been keeping tabs on him for years, so accessing this can’t be that hard.”

They decide to go to a mall to keep SHIELD from tracking them while they attempt to access the USB and Romanova acknowledges that whoever encrypted the drive is ‘slightly’ smarter than her. ‘Slightly’.

Then she tries to open the data and a locator program is activated, alerting SHIELD to their location. All they get from the USB before they have to run is a location. No data is recovered.

**flash**

Rogers and Romanova make no attempt at finding backup or alerting anyone to the situation, such as Barton, before heading to the abandoned SHIELD base. Once they discover the hidden room, Zola proves his consciousness is still alive and well, albeit trapped in a computer, brags about HYRDA infecting SHIELD from its inception, speaks of Project Insight, which is his brainchild . . . and then he shows the pair a video of the assassination of Howard and Maria Stark.

After they escape the destroyed base, Rogers and Romanova head directly to Sam Wilson’s home. During transit, they do not speak of what Zola revealed about HYDRA, SHIELD, or the Starks, and neither of them attempts to contact anyone. After they arrive, the duo engage in a philosophical discussion about right, wrong, trust, honesty, integrity, and life choices, and Rogers declares to Romanova that he is ‘always honest’. Then Wilson, unprompted and without asking a single clarifying question or suggesting that they reach out for help or backup, offers to assist them, providing a folder clearly marked ‘CLASSIFIED’. But first, they must breach a heavily-guarded military base to steal something called ‘Falcon’.

Neither Rogers nor Romanova hesitate for a second before agreeing.

**flash**

Rogers, Wilson, and Romanova interrogate Jasper Sitwell by throwing him off a building, catching him, and playing on his obvious fear of death. Sitwell reveals the truth about Insight and names a few targets. Among them are Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, the current Secretary of Defense, an unnamed teacher, and Rogers himself. After more questions, he confirms that the Insight helicarriers — the ones Fury showed to Steve earlier, that Tony Stark helped design and build — would eliminate the threats HYDRA had deemed to be against it, a few million people at a time.

**flash**

The four of them are in a car, heading back to SHIELD with the intention of using Sitwell’s clearance to access the system, when they are attacked by an unknown assailant, who kills Sitwell. After a brutal but surprisingly easy fight, Rogers manages to remove his opponent’s mask.

And reveals the face of James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

Rogers cries his name, which briefly confuses the man, before he vanishes and the trio are taken into custody by SHIELD, where they are rescued by Maria Hill, who has infiltrated the HYDRA team.

No one questions this.

She takes them to a cave, where Nick Fury is revealed to be alive, to even Romanova’s obvious, unfeigned shock. Rogers demands to know the reason for the secrecy, to which Fury replies that playing dead is the only way to make your killer think he succeeded. Also, he didn’t know who to trust.

So far, neither Rogers nor Romanova have asked why Fury trusts them.

Hill and Fury explain how Project Insight will work in conjunction with the helicarriers, with the hope of salvaging something worth saving in SHIELD, only for Rogers to declare that they aren’t salvaging anything, they were taking down SHIELD.

Fury’s denial of knowing about Barnes is met with the accusation that he wouldn’t have told Rogers even had he known, and because of that corruption, the entire organization must be destroyed. Hill agrees, as does Wilson. And finally, so does Fury.

Despite knowing that Tony Stark is a technical, engineering, and computer genius who has knowledge of how the helicarriers work, Rogers does not attempt to contact him for blueprints or an idea on how to ground the craft or prevent the weapons from coming online. Nor does he try reaching out to any other SHIELD agents he knows he can trust — such as Barton — so he can begin to plan and strategize, or contacting the FBI or even the local PD for ideas, if not backup.

None of them so much as mention Tony Stark’s name.

**flash**

Wilson meets Rogers alone and tries to reason with him that the friend he knew is very likely gone, and if that’s the case, the Winter Soldier will need to be taken out. Rogers confesses he might not be able to do that, and when Wilson reiterates that Barnes will not know who Steve is, the man in question asserts that “he will” and starts to walk away.

Wilson does not question him further about his plans for taking Barnes out of the equation; instead, he inquires as to Rogers’ choice of outfit and is told, “No. If you’re gonna fight a war, you gotta wear a uniform.”

He then breaks into the Smithsonian and steals his old Captain America costume.

**flash**

Wilson and Rogers are on the Triskelion, preparing to stop Pierce’s plan to launch the aircraft.

“Why aren’t we calling Stark to help with this?” Wilson asks, giving Rogers a puzzled look that makes him frown.

“Because Tony . . . he isn’t HYRDA, but he’s not a good person, either,” he replies, sounding so sincere that Stephen’s stomach churns. “So we can’t trust him to do the right thing instead of something unnecessary and flashy that’ll get him the most attention but also get people hurt or killed. He has to show off; he just can’t help himself.”

Hearing that is appalling enough, but seeing Wilson nod in complete agreement, without even a shred of hesitation, is actually worse, Stephen realizes, bile rising in his throat. It was insane: Wilson had been a member of the Air Force which meant, if nothing else, he was familiar with James Rhodes’ career, his professional association with Stark Industries, and his personal relationship with Tony Stark. And that was completely separate from Stark himself. Yes, he allowed the media to portray him in a bad light, with more than a few scandals to his name, which were a hell of a lot juicier than any good deeds (a nuisance all truly famous people had to deal with), and after the ‘I am Iron Man’ announcement, he had been the first to admit that he’d been careless and selfish before Afghanistan — but there had never been a bad word regarding his treatment of his employees and he was emphatic about supporting the American troops he was trying to protect.

And honestly, even back then, all one had to do was exert a little effort to see how wrong the media was about Stark; the facts were there, plain as day. No one could be as good as Tony Stark was at technology of any kind without there being rock-solid, undeniable evidence of it. And sure, there were the occasional accusations of theft and stolen work, but they were rare — and it was virtually unheard of for that accusation to come from an SI employee, current or former. And not a single one of those accusations had been successful.

But Wilson had been perfectly willing to disregard all of that in favor of following Rogers, who he had literally known less than 24 consecutive hours, with his face duct-taped to the man’s ass and red, white, and blue glasses superglued to his eyes.

The Stone jumps scenes again, to Stephen’s mingled gratitude and annoyance.

Barnes confronts Rogers on the bridge of a helicarrier, but Rogers refuses to fight. When his pleas have no impact, he finally makes a physical attempt to stop Barnes, who dodges the shield and engages in hand-to-hand. Rogers is pulling his punches, but Barnes is not. However, Rogers finally gets the upper hand, breaks Barnes’ arm, knocks him unconscious, and runs off, making no effort to secure the man or prevent him from escaping or following.

**flash**

Alexander Pierce is putting the last piece of his plan into effect when Rogers orders Hill to use one carrier to fire on the others. She objects and is overruled, and obeys.

The helicarriers began their uncontrolled descent on the unaware, unevacuated Potomac River.

**flash**

Rogers and Barnes are facing off again. But this time, Rogers refuses to fight. He does not attack, nor does he attempt to defend himself. All he does is tell Barnes both their names. When that fails to work, he removes his mask and throws it and his shield off the helicarrier.

Barnes violently assaults Rogers, declaring that killing him is the mission, and Rogers still refuses to fight back despite the damage he is taking. He just keeps talking. When the floor disintegrates beneath him and he falls into the river below, Barnes stares for a few seconds, then goes after him. He pulls him out of the river, barely, then vanishes.

**flash**

Romanova is standing in front of the US Congressional body, telling them that Steve Rogers couldn’t be bothered to attend the hearing — after dumping countless intelligence secrets and data online with no authorization, no warning, and no actual plan for afterwards, before following that up with the brilliant decision to drop not one, but three massive helicarriers on the Potomac at midday, also without warning, authorization, any attempt at evacuation, or a plan for afterwards — because she “doesn’t know what there is left for him to say. I think the wreck in the middle of the Potomac made his point fairly eloquently.”

She then follows this up by declaring that no one is going to arrest Rogers or her, because while they are the main reason the world is now considerably less safe than it was before they acted, they are the only ones capable of cleaning up the mess they made.

And she walks away.

**flash**

Rogers refuses Fury’s offer to join him in Europe to continue cleaning up the HYDRA infestation, as does Wilson.

Romanova also fails to accompany Fury, explaining to Rogers that she’s blown all her covers. She then hands him a file before walking away.

It is full of information about the Winter Soldier.

Wilson confirms Rogers is going after him and declares he will join him.

Still no mention is made of asking for Tony Stark’s help, not to clean up SHIELD’s files, rescue any of the non-HYDRA agents, or to help find Barnes.

**flash**

Two high-ranking HYDRA operatives are gloating about surviving the data dump because SHIELD and Fury don’t know they exist. They make plans to sacrifice other, less-important HYDRA bases to Rogers to keep him distracted before discussing a pair of volunteers who have developed powers from experimentation and are currently training them.

Their names are Pietro and Wanda Maximoff.

Seeing just badly the three of them — five if you count Hill and Fury — had fucked everyone over in that disaster kicks Stephen’s rage into a higher gear, and his hands begin to tremble with a dark, visceral desire to do something to them, punish them, so they finally understand how badly they have behaved and see the true depths of the damage, the destruction, they’ve caused.

The Time Stone sends another alarmed pulse through Stephen’s mind and before he can blink, much less act, the next moment the Stone deems important shimmers into being.

This one is of Romanova manipulating Stark into giving her weapons a full upgrade by altering the message left by one of his lab directors. She ‘accidentally’ adds two weeks to the date he is supposed to have the SI project completed, but doesn’t erase the original message, and in fact replaces it once Stark is occupied with her Widow Bites. So when Pepper Potts comes storming in two days later, lecturing Tony on his irresponsibility, his protests that Robbins had told him a different date are ignored when the actual message is provided, clear as day.

This incident is repeated four, five, twelve, thirty times, but Romanova doesn’t stop at driving a wedge between Tony and his CEO and employees. She also uses it to get the others to see Stark as a lazy, unreliable jerk who doesn’t care about anything but himself, but can be coerced into maintaining their equipment by ‘catering to his ego, because he can’t stand people not thinking he’s the best’. This is appallingly easy to accomplish, helped along by the fact that Tony does work for SI and, thanks to Romanova’s machinations, is constantly behind. So he never has a chance to stop and realize what she’s doing, and the ‘Avengers’ never think about it at all.

Throughout all of this, Stark is never told about Barnes, the Winter Soldier, or the truth of his parents’ deaths, though Rogers does promise Romanova he’ll tell Stark ‘when the time is right’. He either does not see her knowing look, eyes full of wary satisfaction, or he chooses to ignore it.

But the reminder of Barnes and his possible role in the murder of the Starks appears to be some kind of catalyst for Rogers. From all appearances, he has never liked Tony, or truly respected him, and resents his ability to steal the spotlight and attention from Rogers. But until the DC incident, he has kept his thoughts and feelings under wraps, at least for the most part.

That abruptly changes. Rogers now has something to lose.

Stephen has no clue the Time Stone takes a positively vindictive pleasure in showing the group the very, very revealing exchange between Romanova and Rogers a little over a month before the team first encounters the Maximoff twins.

“I can’t talk to that man about anything!” Rogers fumes to his teammate, pacing the floor and waving his arms. Her expression is calm as she watches, but smug satisfaction is clear in her eyes and the faint curve of her lips. “He either makes everything a joke or just refuses to listen. I was in the Army, but he actually told me that HE was the better person to talk to the brass about folding the Avengers into some of their infiltration missions. Like he’d even be qualified to join us. He can’t be subtle to save his life. He’d get everyone killed while he was showing off and never even notice. Or care. He is so selfish and arrogant and I can’t stand it! And make him listen to me when he blows a mission because he ignored my orders? There’s no point. I just have to make sure nobody is counting on him to watch their backs, because he’ll abandon them in a heartbeat if he sees something shiny.”

He is panting when he finally runs out of words, not seeing Romanova’s quickly-suppressed smirk, which is covered by a commiserating look that is worryingly believable.

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh. “That’s why he wasn’t recommended to the team to begin with. Iron Man has possibilities, but Tony Stark does not. Unfortunately, until we can convince him that his talents are limited to background tech support, we’re stuck with him. Even Pepper hasn’t been able to convince him to let someone else be Iron Man, and since Rhodes literally can’t, we have no other options. But I know it’s useless to share your concerns. Everything is about him and he can’t be calm or reasonable about things he can’t control. I’ve seen him throw a tantrum over the brand of coffee he got once.”

(what she does not say is that it was an assassination attempt by a fringe faction of the American Communist Group, nor does she mention that Tony’s anger was a combination of the knowledge that not only was someone trying to kill him again for something neither he nor his company had actually done, but the coffee company in question, who had been a trusted vendor for SI going on a decade, had been infiltrated and compromised so badly that it could no longer be used.

Rogers does not ask. He takes it at face value because it paints the picture of Tony Stark that he needs to see)

“Well, I’m done. He clearly doesn’t want to be a productive member of the team, so he can just hide away in his lab. If he wants to join us, he needs to come up and ask.”

This exchange is followed by scores of incidents where Rogers uses some of the Black Widow’s tactics and starts treating Tony like a third-class citizen in his own home. He makes a point of setting up game nights and movie nights and team meals, both in the Tower and going out, but either schedules them when he knows Tony is busy . . . or he deliberately ‘forgets’ to tell him — and then tells the others that he refused. If, of course, anyone bothers to ask. Few of them do bother, and not very often.

But Rogers also begins to undermine Tony’s authority, influence, and knowledge with the team. Anytime he brings up a political issue or situation, whether it’s relevant to SI or to the team, Rogers scoffs and often makes a snide comment about Tony’s ego, and how he cannot possibly matter to what’s happening in Japan, or how the US president doesn’t need his opinion on Brazilian politics, or how they didn’t need to make an appearance at some stuffy, fancy, party of his, that wasn’t their thing. And God forbid Tony have to refuse to do something because of prior commitments to Stark Industries. The accusations of inflating his importance are childish and elicit eyerolls from Tony, who is used to them.

Barton and Wilson, however, eat them up, and so does Thor when he is there. Banner generally doesn’t, but he also never speaks up, not to defend Tony or even disagree with any of the patently false statements and assertions.

There’s a rather violent shimmer before Tony and Banner are shown.

They are shutting down a project and Tony sighs as he closes the last file.

“It’s a shame we can’t get ULTRON off the ground,” he tells Banner. “I know the others don’t believe another invasion is coming, but having a planetary defense system is still a good idea on general principle.”

Banner nods as he turns off his computer. “Yeah. But this one just isn’t happening. We’d have to get the major world governments to agree on a central operating system first, and even then, the sheer number of variables we’d have to account for is going to make it impossible.”

Tony sighs again and bumps Banner’s shoulder companionably as they turn to leave the lab. “I know. We tried and failed, but at least we got some good data from it.”

The date on the digital clock by the entrance is February 7^th, 2014.

They are given a mere four seconds to absorb this . . . and then the Stone shows them the literal entirety of the ULTRON disaster.

It pauses on certain moments, such as Wanda Maximoff allowing Tony to take the scepter instead of killing him, as well as Rogers and Thor both agreeing that Tony and Bruce should study the scepter. Watching the entire team turn on Tony at the robot’s first appearance, without so much as a question or even a second of hesitation, is horrifying in retrospect, made that much worse by Thor lifting Tony by the throat, with no one intervening or speaking up afterward. In fact, the prevailing attitude seems to be that Tony deserves it for ‘messing with things he doesn’t understand’.

Tony does not bother to protest that both Rogers and Thor suggested and agreed that he and Banner should study the scepter. Even if he wasn’t in shock and grieving for JARVIS, it is clear none of the team is willing to listen to him.

After it’s all over, Tony tries to talk to Rogers about what actually happened, only for the man to sneer at Tony and refuse to even look at the evidence he has gathered proving that something screwed with his mind in Strucker’s bunker, instead calling him despicable for refusing to take responsibility for murdering poor Wanda’s parents and accusing him of picking on her to deflect his own guilt. When he finally winds down, Tony doesn’t look remotely surprised. He is annoyed, but makes no further attempts to press the point.

He does, however, try speaking to Barton, who has a well-established hatred of any kind of mind-fuckery. ‘Not unreasonably’, he says to himself while transferring the info to a StarkPad, ‘seeing actual physical evidence will hopefully gain him an ally against Rogers’ blind trust’. He is therefore taken aback when Barton hurls a string of vitriol at him for trying to deny that he made a murderbot by faking evidence that couldn’t possibly be true so he could pretend it wasn’t his fault.

Then, showing its strong appreciation for irony, the Stone makes sure everyone sees and hears Rogers judging Tony for doing business with people who were part of the weapons-making business world. Then it highlights Maximoff declaring “I want the big one” before blatantly focusing her abilities on Bruce Banner and forcing him to unleash the Hulk — followed by Romanova doing the human equivalent later, after his point-blank refusal of her request. Then it shows Rogers, who still cannot do more than a basic Google search and access email, listen to Maximoff declare that Tony is creating something dangerous in his lab and immediately goes down there, with the twins, and orders him and Banner to stop. When they refuse, he throws his shield, causing untold amounts of damage and nearly killing Tony.

A close-up, high-resolution, volume-on-maximum screening of Rogers accusing Tony of keeping secrets is emphasized — while they are hiding on the farm no one knew Barton had, with the family only Romanova knew existed — before the same emphasis is given to Banner blaming Tony for the creation of a ‘murderbot’. When the man in question calls him on his participation in said project, both he and it are ignored in favor of more recrimination against Tony, which everyone else jumps on.

Barton’s secret family, protected from the SHIELD data dump, shows that Romanova did some very specific data erasure and clean-up before uploading the files, though this is never mentioned. Neither is Fury’s appearance and warning that Wanda Maximoff is playing the entire team.

The entire team’s callous indifference to Tony’s anguish and grief over JARVIS’ death. Even if they do not understand just what, exactly, he was, one would think someone would be sympathetic to Tony’s feelings.

They are not. Wanda is fussed over and smothered with attention and sympathy, but Tony . . . not only do none of his so-called teammates NOT acknowledge his grief, they pile onto it with accusations and assertions that he’s just being dramatic and deflecting attention because it’s his fault Wanda’s entire family is dead. The tablet on the table shows clear proof that the bomb was not his, but he makes no attempt to share this information. It will do no good; actually, with his luck, it will make his life worse. So he just . . . lets it go.

Almost as an afterthought, Maria Hill’s duplicity is exposed. Tony saved her from the destruction of SHIELD by taking her on in a fairly-high position at SI, only to discover that the agency wasn’t actually gone and she was there to ensure that he didn’t look too closely into SHIELD’s data and discover just how deep their betrayal and corruption went. Anything she could steal from SI was a bonus, and she had gotten a lot more than anyone had expected. And when Tony discovered the truth, she didn’t even have the balls to own up to it. She tried to play the ‘I know it was wrong but’ card, because she doesn’t even respect his intelligence.

This is enraging, particularly since Stephen had seen something similar happen while he was finishing his final internship. The scandal had rocked the local medical community and nearly destroyed what had been an excellent training program.

So he can’t help the savage spurt of satisfaction when the entire group is forced to see not just their collective betrayal of Tony Stark, along with their general shitty treatment of him, but also how selfish and hypocritical Steve Rogers is, and how unfit he is to lead a team. There can also be no doubt as to how duplicitous Natasha Romanova truly is. Neither of them cares for anything outside their personal goals, though they are willing to work with others in the name of pursuing said goals. Rogers’ frightening, though impressive, ability to project his own convictions on other people is also made clear, as is Barton’s follower mentality. His first loyalty is to Romanova, then Rogers. And then, after ULTRON’s destruction, he begins to vehemently defend Wanda Maximoff, which no one finds odd despite his well-established hatred for mind control.

Other than Tony, that is, who says that exact thing and is instantly accused of being mean to poor Wanda, who is a misguided kid who helped them and deserves a second chance. None of them questioned why the man stepped away after that. He can take a hint and this is a fucking anvil.

Then everything just . . . pauses. It is almost as though the Time Stone itself is taking a deep breath.

This is an accurate summation, as it turns out.

Because the ‘Civil War’ is next.

As a preface, the Stone gives them a rapid montage of more instances where Romanova is blatantly gaslighting and manipulating Tony for SHIELD and the Avengers by way of driving a deliberately-created wedge between him and his employees — and between him and Pepper. She goes to considerable effort to make them believe that he is ignoring his responsibilities to SI in favor of the Avengers, while simultaneously telling the team that they are taking second place to SI, but only as a power play. After all, Tony does none of the work. Everyone knows Pepper is the boss and the people who work there are the real inventors. But Tony can’t let anyone else take the credit or he won’t be as important in the public’s eye, so he ignores his team to force his way into SI projects that aren’t his business and don’t need him.

It works because Tony is shouldering the workload of four different jobs, sometimes five, and cannot stop long enough to take full stock of his surroundings.

But it also works because the people in question want to believe the worst of him. It allows them to justify their own attitude and behavior . . . and yes, Stephen is including Potts, Rhodes, and the SI workers, albeit to a lesser extent. He knows what’s it like to automatically be dismissed or accused of being selfish/arrogant/egotistical/etc, since past bad behavior, no matter how often — or rarely — it happens, is always the standard for all future actions.

Interspersed among these incidents are ones of Rogers refusing to allow Tony to ask questions or provide physical help on missions while demanding the use of his resources and money by using guilt, something that is, unfortunately, guaranteed to work on the exhausted, overwhelmed, responsibility-laden genius. And then, just to make sure nobody can claim ‘I didn’t do anything’, they are shown Maximoff’s hateful, snide remarks and deliberate displays of ‘fear’ when Tony is around, which always incites one of her male protectors to leap to her defense even though Tony has not said, done, or insinuated anything to or about her.

They also see Wilson’s clear disdain for the ‘rich white boy who never had to work’ — which he said out loud more than once and to more than one person, after quitting his job at the VA so he could ‘be an Avenger’ and is now living completely and totally off Tony’s generosity. Barton has retired by then, but the Stone still gives them a few instances of him making similar snotty comments about being filthy rich and showing off or buying friends — while greedily accepting every weapon and upgrade Tony provides.

Four instances of Wanda are shown where she is alone in her room, talking out loud to her dead brother as she scribbles somewhat manically in a journal. She speaks of how glad she is, now, that she didn’t kill Stark. This is so much better, because he is gone, thrown out of the Avengers, so she doesn’t have to see him, but she still gets to live there for free, and everything she wants, she gets. She does assure Pietro that she will kill Stark at some point, but right now, he’s just too useful.

Stephen’s passing thought as to why the AI didn’t catch these alarming occurrences is answered by a quick recap of the team collectively losing their mind at the thought of having internal cameras. How dare the man want to keep his home and teammates protected? He compromises; no cameras in their bedrooms or bathrooms, but they stay in the kitchen and common areas. There is a lot of bitching about this, but when he tells them curtly it’s that or they can damn well live somewhere else, they grudgingly agree.

Barton and Romanova are very, very careful about what they say in the public rooms, though she is forced to serve as a muzzle for Rogers more than once, which Barton finds hilarious.

All of them make free use of Tony’s money and generosity, in fact, but not a single gesture of gratitude is made that the Stone can find . . . and it ensures they see it searching. The sentient gem makes this point very clear by showing instances of other people who are the recipient of Tony’s generosity thanking him or treating him to lunch or coffee and a bearclaw or a new t-shirt. Little things, but obviously appreciated.

The complete absence of the so-called ‘heroes’ is glaring. Spitefully, Stephen hopes it is also nauseating. They are worse than a brain-eating amoeba. The effects are the same, but the amoeba has neither conscious thought nor the ability to choose. It is mindless by nature of its very biology. These people are mindless parasites because they want to be.

After firmly establishing the ever-worsening treatment and opinion of Tony by the group, the Stone pauses one more time, humming in Stephen’s mind . . .

And throws them all into the maelstrom.

Nothing is hidden or glossed over.

The group’s continued refusal to involve Tony in anything that might give him an inkling about Barnes, even if Wilson and Maximoff don’t know why. They don’t care, either; Rogers said ‘no’ and that’s all they need. Questions are neither allowed nor welcome, but they’re fine with that. Lagos. Rogers’ refusal to acknowledge the disaster, much less his part in it. Tony being ambushed by Charlie Spencer’s mother — and Rogers’ arrogant, careless justification for his death while simultaneously blaming Tony. His refusal to accept the possibility that the Avengers’ actions caused more death and destruction than staying out of things might have, and his coddling of Wanda, telling her it isn’t her fault people are afraid of her reckless, uncontrolled use of power.

Then the Stone switches gears, making Stephen a little dizzy. Prior to Lagos and over the course of eight months, the group sees Rogers receiving seven, nine, thirteen emails from Tony regarding the Accords — and they see him reply to all of them with a curt ‘It’s been handled’ before deleting them. He never once informs any of his team about Tony’s repeated attempts to talk about the issue, which is why, after not receiving a single question about the Accords from any of the Avengers, Tony finally CCs everyone for the meeting with Ross.

A sharp turn here and the Stone shows Tony and Rhodes talking about how disturbing it is that someone with Thaddeus Ross’ known history isn’t in prison. Worse, due to his rank, his clearance level, and the astonishing fact that he didn’t actually work for HYDRA (unlike his predecessor), he was named Secretary of State. Tony is working on getting evidence even Congress and the president can’t ignore, but until that happens, the Secretary of State is the US liaison for the Accords and unfortunately for the entire world, that happens to be Thaddeus Ross. There is no choice but to work with the man for the time being.

Having a bitchy sense of humor, the Stone immediately follows this uncomfortable truth with the team’s various accusations of Tony ‘selling out’ to Ross, which Stephen viciously hopes they all choke on. Then it shows Tony, over the course of nearly two years, working closely with his legal department, a lot of other companies, and several ambassadors and high-ranking government officials from multiple countries to make the Accords something palatable and equitable for the majority. He is fierce in his defense of not just his teammates but every person with enhancements, mutations, and future possibilities, staunchly refusing to even consider every single unethical suggestion tossed out, such as a registration act (Russia) and imprisonment without trial for deaths deemed unnecessary or avoidable (Venezuela).

The Stone plays that meeting again, in high-resolution Technicolor, and shows the group their arrogance in refusing to listen to what either Tony or Ross is saying, with Rogers declaring that ‘their hands are the safest’ while Wilson scoffs at the very idea of rules and regulations, despite being former military and in the presence of Colonel James Rhodes, active Air Force, who is supporting them wholeheartedly. They all witness again Rogers getting a text message and leaving without a word.

Then it shows Romanova trying to talk Rogers into standing down after the bombing because he’s too close. It also shows her not going to Stark or Rhodes with her concerns; instead, she simply accepts his refusal to stay away. The destruction the group wreaked in Bucharest is shown in graphic detail; the violence of the injuries and deaths make Stephen’s stomach churn, and he was a neurosurgeon. But the destruction itself, of roads and buildings and cars, is actually worse. Watching a building collapse in slow-motion, flattening the twelve cars in front of it with none of the passengers able to escape, is beyond horrifying.

The Time Stone is relentless. It knows what Stephen wants, and it is willing to oblige. More than that, it knows this is necessary, because unless something is done about this careless, selfish, reckless, destructive group of people, the Mad Titan will succeed in his quest and destroy everything — including the Infinity Stones. So this Stone makes the point in clear, unambiguous detail that can no longer be ignored, disregarded, or misconstrued.

They all watch Tony show Rogers the deal he’d secured for him, Wilson, and Barnes, if only they’ll sign the Accords. And it shows Rogers, frustrated at being backed into a corner of his own making, seizing the slightest opportunity to refuse, to make Tony the villain. His immediate summons to Barton, who leaves his family before the call ends, is worrying. The ease at which Barton convinces Maximoff to join him and Rogers is frightening, but watching her literally throw Vision, a being she claimed to love, through 44 floors without a single provocative action from him, is terrifying. The fact that she and Barton simply leave without so much as a token effort to ensure he is unharmed is heartless.

But not surprising. Not by then.

Rogers’ refusal to even consider talking despite Tony’s repeated pleas cannot be ignored, and neither can the fact that none of his team is willing to talk, either. It is also clear that Barton fired the first unprovoked arrow. The ensuing fight is slightly less brutal than Bucharest, but that is only because Tony thought ahead and had Rhodes use his contacts to evacuate the airport. Still, watching Rogers drop a gangway on Spiderman without the slightest clue he has the ability to survive is disturbing. Seeing Maximoff throw a dozen cars on top of Iron Man with her full strength, clearly intent on killing him, is chilling. Watching Romanova turn on the Black Panther, her own recruit, in order to let Rogers and Barnes go, is, by now, not remotely unexpected. Witnessing Lang screwing with the Iron Man suit will have consequences no one could imagine.

Watching Rhodes fall is horrifying.

Listening to Tony scream as he tries and fails to prevent his best friend from crash-landing will haunt Stephen’s nightmares for years.

Seeing Romanova yet again gaslight Tony at the hospital, and blame his ego for her foolish, shortsighted, selfish choices makes Stephen fume, and hopefully it’s making some of the others sick to their stomachs. Hearing Barton’s hateful jab as he blames Tony for Rhodes’ injury nearly makes Stephen throw up, and watching Wilson treat Tony as the enemy and bargain with Rogers’ destination by making him promise to go as a friend has him biting down a series of truly impressive curses.

(Stephen would find it odd, later, that the Stone didn’t pause again, this time to savor, before utterly obliterating everyone’s petty, hypocritical fantasy world)

And then . . .

And then.

Siberia.

Not a single person is spared from watching the Winter Soldier, using James Barnes’ face, hands, and body, murder Howard and Maria Stark. Nor are they spared from seeing Tony watch it happen, barely five feet from the man.

And not a single, solitary one of them can deny the knowledge that Rogers already knew. He knew, he’d known for a long time, and he was utterly unconcerned with Tony. He cared only for Barnes. All of them are forced to watch and listen to him lie to Tony’s face about knowing the first time he asked . . . and they watch him consider lying the second time as well. But it’s obvious he didn’t confess out of guilt or because it was the right thing to do; this is made clear by his immediate declaration of Barnes’ innocence. When Tony punched him, Rogers’ long-simmering resentment of the man finally boiled over and he unleashed his feelings.

It is clear to everyone that despite his rage and pain, Tony is not trying to kill either of them. Even if one ignored the wide-open chances not taken, the Iron Man suit is armed with so many heavy-duty weapons that it can — and has — taken down armed terrorist hideouts in two strikes.

But Tony does not use any of them. The shot that takes off Barnes’ metal arm is a clear response to his attempt to remove the arc reactor, and Tony’s restraint is just as obvious, because he doesn’t follow that strike up with a kill shot, despite Barnes being dazed and an easy target. And all the while, Rogers keeps declaring Barnes’ innocence and Tony keeps demanding they stand down. He is ignored as the fight gets more and more brutal, to the point the pair of super soldiers are able to damage his faceplate so badly he has to remove it.

Listening to Rogers justify his protection of HYDRA’s assassination because Barnes is his friend is infuriating.

Tony’s soft “so was I” is heartbreaking.

But hearing Rogers declare that he ‘can this all day’ is so enraging, Stephen is genuinely surprised he isn’t breathing fire . . . and he chokes on his tongue when Rogers and Barnes finally manage to get to Tony at the same time. Since he is pulling his punches and they aren’t, they are able to take him down. He is flat on his back, staring at Rogers . . .

. . . who is glaring back, hate blazing in his eyes as he brings his shield down on Tony’s unprotected neck.

Stephen cannot stop his strangled gasp, even though he knows Tony survives, but seeing that fucker change his mind at literally the last second and bury the shield in Tony’s chest shatters his own heart.

And yet, somehow, watching him stagger to his feet and go to his friend, ignoring Tony completely, is worse. When he pauses at Tony’s declaration that he’s unworthy of the shield that Howard made for him and then drops it before just . . . leaving . . . the Time Stone has to pause things and hum for several minutes in Stephen’s mind before he is calm enough to accept the fact that he cannot murder Steve Rogers.

Yet.

But the Stone is done. It has shown them everything it deems pertinent to their actions and behavior; anything past this is Tony’s personal business. It is enough, more than enough, for them to know he survived, and if there is any justice in the world, they will finally understand what they have done. Because it isn’t just Tony Stark they’ve betrayed.

It isn’t even the entire world.

They have betrayed themselves.

Seeing them finally be forced to accept that will be one of the most deeply satisfying moments of Stephen’s life.

The dull, grey and white surroundings of the Siberian bunker bleed into the gray, drab walls of the UN holding cells and Stephen takes a deep, fortifying breath. Then he turns his head, not quite sure what he wants to do next—

—and sees Tony Stark’s face, less than two inches from his own, eyes wide with concern and a lot of alarm.

He will never know how he keeps from shrieking like every little girl in a horror movie and there is a definite stumble. But he otherwise manages to keep his composure and sniffs hard, trying and failing to determine how long they’ve been under the Stone’s influence.

“Are you okay?” Tony demands, sounding frantic, as his eyes search Stephen’s for signs of injury. “You been unresponsive for almost an hour, according to FRIDAY.”

Only an hour?!

Good grief. Stephen feels like he’s been caught in an underwater dream for at least two days, with a massive hangover to top things off. And he at least has some experience with the Time Stone; he can’t imagine how the others are fee—

Wait.

The whole point of this exercise was to show that group of . . . of . . . gah! He is so upset that he can’t even think of a suitable insult! He has just finished a short explanation when the most God-awful pandemonium he has ever heard erupts from the cells — and he was in the ER during that damned Chitauri invasion.

Startled, Tony jerks around, eyes going wide when he sees an enraged Sam Wilson trying to claw his way through his cell door so he can reach Rogers, who looks appalled, vaguely guilty, and stubbornly defiant.

“Calm down, Sam,” he says, sounding conciliatory . . . and Wilson shrieks a wordless noise of pure rage in response.

Shockingly, it is ignored.

“I don’t know how Tony did it, but all of that was just a play for sympathy by only showing stuff that makes us look bad.”

“WE ARE THE BAD GUYS, YOU ASSHOLE!!!!” Wilson screams back, falling away from the door and panting. “Don’t tell me it was taken out of context, because I remember the shit that I said and did, and I saw a lot of it, too! Oh, God,” he groaned, doubling over and turning vaguely green. “Oh, God. Stark was right about fucking everything. The invasion, the Accords, us . . . we are going to rot in prison and we all deserve every second of it. Unless, of course, we die in the invasion you fuckers swore was a figment of his imagination because he ‘just wanted to be the hero’,” he spits, eyes blazing orange with fury and his voice so raw and hoarse it doesn't sound human. “How many people have you murdered just so YOU could be the hero instead?” he hisses next, venom dripping from the accusation, as he leans forward and refuses to let the man who has betrayed them look away.

Rogers flinches back, stunned at the vitriol aimed so accurately at him, while Barton finally recovers, though Lang is still floundering a bit.

"If he was just 'trying to feed his ego', what's that giant-ass armada of ships he SAW when he went through that portal?" Clint snarls, breathing so heavily that the clear cell wall fogs up. 

Rogers flinches back further, looking hunted now, and mouths wordlessly, unable to come up with even a token explanation. That sets Lang off and things escalate immediately. The resultant pile-on from those three men is illuminating and lasts so long, Stephen opens a portal to a movie theatre to acquire two large popcorns and a giant box of Reece’s Pieces; it’s been a long day and he and Tony are both starving. Also, this kind of entertainment deserves popcorn (it says a lot about the unflappability of New Yorkers when the concession stand workers see an orange portal open and don’t even blink when Tony Stark pokes his head through it to request their desired refreshments, offering a $100 bill and telling them to keep the change).

To no one’s surprise, neither Romanova nor Maximoff seem willing to accept the truths of what they just saw. Maximoff is such a child, this actually makes sense, while the Black Widow’s ego will apparently kill her if she acknowledges a mistake that is result of her own actions.

Rogers . . . well. Guess.

Finally, after nearly two hours of screaming, raging, accusations, justifications, several broken hand bones, and some bloody scratches from failed attempts to break free of the cells, Wilson finally collapses on his cot and bursts into tears.

“I know you’re watching, Stark. I’m sorry. I was . . . I was a complete dick and I assumed and I just . . . I’m just sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispers, looking absolutely devastated as he finally falls silent. Tears are still streaming down his cheeks and he is utterly despondent.

The entire cellblock is quiet now, with Barton and Lang pale and guilty and looking everywhere but at each other. Lang suddenly lurches to his sink and gags, shaking like a leaf; for a minute, it looks like Barton will follow, but he manages to keep it under control. The other three are staring at their teammates, clearly shocked that things have changed so drastically.

Into this vortex of an uncertain reality steps Tony Stark.

“Well.”

It is all he says, and miraculously, no one verbally responds. They are all too busy staring at him in varying degrees of shock and . . . other emotions. After maybe two minutes, Wilson mentally recovers first and stumbles to the door. His eyes are desperate and his face is full of guilt as he faces the man he has so egregiously wronged for literally no legitimate reason, and the two men stare at each other for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Wilson finally says, his voice still hoarse. “I . . . I’m sorry.”

Tony sniffs and tilts his head, studying the man for several seconds. Then he shrugs.

“I don’t care,” he replies curtly. “Because you’re sorry for the wrong reasons. Not once before this clusterfuck did you stop and wonder if maybe there was more to the story, more to me, than Rogers’ sanctimonious bullshit and Romanova’s obvious lies. You believed I was the devil incarnate because you wanted to and now that someone else has shown you otherwise, you’re appalled. But you still don’t think any better of me. And I don’t care. Quite frankly, you aren’t worth my time.”

With another shrug, he turns to walk away. Two steps from the exit, he pauses and glances back, looking only at Wilson. “I’m glad you finally understand, though. At least you know why you deserve to be in prison.”

And with that, he leaves. Stephen is at his shoulder, though he sneaks one last glance and is satisfied to see that all of them look shell-shocked. It is very unlikely that Rogers, Romanova, or Maximoff will ever accept or understand what’s happening or why, but he has an idea for that, too. Not being stupid, he waits until they get to Tony’s lab office to breach it.

He will not acknowledge the enjoyment of seeing Anthony Edward Stark rendered speechless.

“I can ask the Time Stone to take us back and observe Erskine finishing the formula,” is what he opens with. “I’m not a biologist myself, but between us, surely we know enough people that someone can reverse engineer it. It will be the perfect punishment for Rogers; scrawny, mouthy, and trapped in prison for the rest of his life. Even if he gets back into the general population, he’ll be useless. And respect? People will laugh at him trying his Captain America shtick. Either way, it’ll finish him.”

He gets a thoughtful nod in response, but the gleam of vicious interest tells Stephen they will be Stone Walking very soon. Still not being stupid, he presents his other idea before Tony does what he does best and leaps off the cliff, full steam ahead.

“We can do the same with Maximoff; I have a Stone and so does Vision, so between us, we should be able to remove or nullify her powers,” he offers, getting a quiet hum of agreement, before a tight grin comes to Tony’s mouth.

“If that fails, I can always inject them with nanobytes and issue nullify commands,” he explains . . . and his smile turns razor sharp. “But I would much rather take their abilities away completely, so they understand they have no hope of ever using or abusing them again.”

“Absolutely.”

It is all Stephen can say right now; it isn’t that he’s shocked, precisely, at the depths of Tony’s rage. Nor are his plans for both revenge and justice unexpected. He just . . . he honestly didn’t think the man would move quite so fast. It has been an eventful two days.

(he never does completely adapt to Tony’s ability to assimilate and run with things before the rest of them have finished their coffee. Watching Stephen flail quickly becomes one of the Defender’s favorite pastimes/team bonding events)

They are successful in both of their endeavors; the Time Stone, perhaps as an apology to Stephen for what was a brutal, rough journey, makes both trips smooth and give them a soft, easy landing. They are able to see exactly what they need and waste no time on implementing their solutions.

Everyone throws Rogers under the bus, and Wilson and Barton run over him a few times just make sure the world knows they no longer follow, believe, or trust him. Maximoff gets quite a bit of blame as well, though not as much as Romanova. This is understandable and no objections are made by the populace. However, Wilson, Lang, and Barton are the only three who confess and offer any kind of apology.

Rogers, on the other hand, refuses to acknowledge any true culpability, despite the massive amount of evidence proving that he is, in fact, wrong. Not even the villain, necessarily; sometimes, he is just . . . wrong. But he will not admit it, and Romanova and Maximoff follow his lead. In the Black Widow’s case, bets are taken on whether she genuinely believes she still did the right thing or if she thinks following Rogers’ example will mitigate her sentence. Maximoff is obviously delusional; according to several different doctors, her mind is utterly incapable of comprehending the reality that she could be wrong about anything.

When the trials are finished, after an astonishingly short amount of time, and the verdicts are read, the entire world is actually satisfied, a minor miracle that is celebrated for a week straight.

• Rogers is sentenced to life once he is given the anti-serum, which is done in full view of the court, though they see only see it on a live feed. His reaction to losing the only thing he has ever truly cared about should have been heartbreaking . . . but it isn't. Given his complete lack of empathy, compassion, or even basic understanding of what he did, why, and how it was wrong, much less his failure to feel or even express a shred of remorse, not even his most ardent supporters can argue his punishment is unjustified.
  
  As long as it remains safe, he spends half his time in solitary and half among the general prison population. His life in prison is as empty and meaningless as his most vicious enemy could wish, especially given his repeated failures to reclaim the title and importance of Captain America. Since he cannot walk for ten minutes without running out of breath, his fellow inmates find him pathetic, and instead of fighting back or rising to his bait, he is pitied and babied, to his rage and ever-deepening humiliation. This is an unexpected consequence, but one his victims relish.
  
  At Pepper Potts’ suggestion, one final act of revenge is levied, and everyone in the court vows to never get on her bad side. Because every single day of his sentence until the day he dies, he is informed that James Barnes — not Bucky, never again — refuses to see him or have any contact whatsoever with him. The only exception to this is the note he penned, given to Rogers on his first day in prison: it’s the end of the line, Rogers. You are dead to me.

• Romanova is executed by firing squad in Russia, due to the scope and specific nature of her crimes. This is done despite Russia's moratorium on the death penalty and only after she is found guilty by a unanimous Accords Panel jury trial and her US citizenship is revoked, rendering her officially Stateless. Russia permits this for several reasons: because it is the country of her birth; she no longer has any citizenship protections; the world at large objects to her execution happening in the US and also acknowledges that Russia by rights has the original and strongest claim to her punishment; and because, given the opportunity, Russia itself would execute her. Members from the firing squad are randomly selected from a list, one from each country other than Russia that she has committed murder, espionage, and/or treason, with one witness from those same countries present to confirm what justice can be had for them is received.
  
  At Pepper Potts' suggestion, she is not offered the chance for final words and no one speaks to her. Pepper was not happy at learning how badly Romanova had manipulated not just Tony, but also her and their employees. The bitch will never understand how much damage she did, though she would revel if she knew, so this is the best vengeance possible.
  
  Before she dies, Natasha Romanova is shown irrefutable proof that she is completely and utterly irrelevant — to Tony and to the world. She is forced to understand that her death will change nothing for anyone. She sees that she is not mourned, nor is she missed, not even by her enemies, and her very existence is forgotten within six months. She finally understands that her death will literally have no effect on anyone because she is of no importance to anyone. It is the last thought she will have.

• Maximoff . . . her verdict is interesting and the result of bargaining and negotiations that make the Versailles Treaty look positively anemic. It is finally agreed that she will have her powers forcibly stripped or bound in front of the entire court, followed by an eight-year prison sentence in complete solitary. She will have no human interaction and she will never leave her cell — and if someone manages to compile a recording of her brother and parents accusing her of failing, mixed with her victims and their families blaming her the way she blames Tony, played at completely random times to ensure she gets no peace or reprieve from the reality of her guilt, well . . . no one utters a word of protest. The first day of her ninth year in prison, she will be publicly executed — and Steve Rogers will witness it, one way or another.

• Barton’s sentence is reduced from death to life in prison after his ex-wife informs him, in front of God and everyone on the second day of his trial, that he had given her so many reasons for divorce, she’d made a drinking game out of it — but what finally pushed her over the edge and made her not only go through with it but also strip him of all rights to her children, was his hateful, ugly, vicious barb about Rhodes’ paralysis. Seeing and hearing him hurl such vile words at Tony for no reason other than to hurt him and deny his own culpability was utterly repulsive, but it made her fear for her children the next time he got pissed off at something someone else did.
  
  “Colonel Rhodes never did a damn thing to you!” Laura had raged, to the amusement (and satisfaction) of the court, which was set to begin for the day in ten minutes. “He’s a good man, an honorable one, who would have died to keep you safe on a mission, because he was your TEAMMATE. And you, you despicable piece of shit, not only mocked a life-threatening injury he only got because you and your friends are morons, but you blamed the man who was there to help?!”
  
  She had slapped him so hard, the handprint didn’t fade for nearly nine hours, earning a standing ovation from her inadvertent audience. The icing on the cake came when someone recorded it, spliced in the clip from the Raft, and uploaded it to five different media platforms. It went viral in seven minutes. The search for the culprit lasted ten minutes before the trail went cold and everyone sighed, shrugged, and observed it was a shame that they just couldn’t find a damn thing about the poster.

• Wilson is sentenced to seventeen years, given a dishonorable discharge flagged with Bad Conduct, and ordered to pay restitution in the form of hard labor, during and after his sentence, to Tony Stark, Stark Industries (Pepper Potts was not impressed with his theft, his guilt, or his remorse), the Leipzig Airport, Bucharest, and Berlin.
  
  
• Lang gets off the lightest. He only gets ten years, though he is denied his request to serve his sentence in San Francisco. To his credit, he doesn’t object, though he is clearly heartbroken. It will take his daughter four years to visit him.

• James Barnes willingly enters a high-security psychiatric compound in Austria, where he is treated by mind-healers from Asgard and provides what details he can clearly recall of his time as the Winter Soldier. He never sees or speaks of Steve Rogers again.

Life goes on. The Rogues are never mentioned again after the verdicts are read, something most of them would be appalled to know.

Tony Stark is finally able to gather the allies he should have had all along, and the world begins to prepare.

Thanos never knows what hits him (literally; he does not know if it’s a giant axe, a pissed-off hammer, an overprotective cloak, or a Klingon Bat’leth that kills him).

And if those who witnessed his final demise took a vow of silence on the matter, well . . .

Wouldn’t you?

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Careless Whisper

Loose lips sink ships.

Roger Harrington had always rolled his eyes at this axiom; he would be the first to agree that gossip just for the sake of it was wrong, but in and of itself, it couldn’t really ruin a person’s life. That was why Midtown had no bullying in its halls; the school was very strict on physical harm, but words had never hurt anybody. Besides, kids roughhoused all the time; that wasn’t bullying. Plus, they needed to learn how to handle discord and disagreement and not being liked before they graduated and began their adult lives. This was the main reason Midtown looked like such an enticing school on paper.

In real life, however, it was getting harder and harder to attract new students, because word had spread about the staff’s complete indifference to the vicious verbal, emotional, and mental bullying that had infected literally every level of the school, and few kids wanted to attend a place that made high school — which started out as the opposite of a good time — an absolute misery with no protection and, worse, no recourse.

It only takes one pebble to start an avalanche.

Roger had rolled his eyes at that cliché as well. Yes, he was a physics teacher, and he understood very well the theoretical concept, but in real life, one single, tiny pebble was not going to cause a massive avalanche to wreak destruction and havoc on an unsuspecting population.

So when Roger Harrington’s loose lips shoved that one pebble out of place, the resultant destruction caught him completely by surprise — and laid waste to every single thing he held dear.

The day the avalanche landed on his head, it did so with such brutal ferocity that it was a wonder Queens remained standing — which, ironically, was Tony Stark’s doing, though he literally had to fling himself in front of his fiancée to stop her. Had Pepper Potts had her way, the city that Roger loved so much would have been reduced to rubble in front of his horrified eyes . . . except for a single apartment building twelve blocks from Midtown School of Science and Technology.

That would have been the first thing Pepper destroyed: the school that Roger was so very proud to teach at, the place he could shape young minds and help them follow their dreams.

So long as he felt those dreams were reasonable and achievable and something he thought they deserved, of course.

And that was where his predicament began.

You see, Roger Harrington had never quite liked Peter Parker. He didn’t really dislike the boy, he just . . . the kid frustrated and irritated him. He was humble and so self-effacing that the teachers would often forget he was there, which was nice, but he was also smart — too smart — and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

He also had no qualms about correcting them in public.

The first time he’d done that to Roger, in front of his class, he’d almost had an apoplexy from utter fury — something that was not assuaged when he realized Peter was right. The third time it happened to him, in less than two months, Roger was seething with resentment, anger, and what he refused to admit was fear — before Peter even opened his mouth.

(he also refused to admit that the first time, Peter had tried to tell him privately, but when Roger realized he was talking about the board assignment, which he’d pulled from the textbook, he’d insisted on the kid saying it out loud)

Peter was already more intelligent than Roger Harrington could ever dream of being, and he had nowhere to go but up. And Roger . . . he resented that. It wasn’t fair that a child with no prospects outside his intelligence, which was virtually worthless without money or power, had been gifted with said intelligence, and it was even less fair that he’d been given to Roger to teach, because it was obvious to a blind man that Roger wasn’t teaching Peter Parker a damn thing.

None of his teachers were, actually, which only made their individual and collective resentment grow (the exceptions were English Lit, which he hated with a passion that his teacher gladly used against him, and Spanish, but even that was being eclipsed. Tony had begun teaching Peter to speak Italian, and he was not only doing it in such a way that the kid would actually learn, the language was close enough to Spanish that Peter was picking it up as well).

See, Midtown touted itself as being ‘a school of geniuses’. This was a lie. It was a school that only accepted the best and brightest, yes, but those results were strictly entrance exam-based. Actual intelligence and ability weren’t taken into account, and people who were intelligent but didn’t test well were out of luck, with the result that the school’s average IQ hovered around 130. People like Peter Parker and Tony Stark and Bruce Banner and Ned Leeds and Otto Octavius — none of them with an IQ below 175 — came along two, maybe three times in a generation, and despite popular myth, brilliance like that was highly resented by both the students and the teachers in a school, though the people in charge of money, fundraising, and marketing loved them.

Midtown was no different. And it currently had two of those geniuses, though Ned managed to keep his completely under wraps (well, he did at school. Hacking Peter’s Spiderman suit revealed his abilities to Tony, who had an internship waiting for the young man when he graduated from Midtown). Peter had likewise never meant to reveal his abilities; it really had been an accident. But once that genie was out of the bottle, well, it was the gift that kept on giving. And by ‘giving’, he meant ‘screwing him over’.

So when rumors started to swirl about Peter having an internship with Stark Industries, Roger’s simmering resentment bubbled up, even as he told himself — and the other teachers and Morita and the school counselors, all of whom needed little convincing — that it was a lie, Stark Industries didn’t take interns earlier than their third semester of college, so Peter was clearly acting out because of his uncle’s recent death and a desire for adult attention.

He did such a good job of slandering the boy that when Principal Morita received a package from SI, he didn’t even bother to open it and investigate the contents — despite the fact it was sealed with SI’s logo and had been professionally couriered over. It was shredded, as were all subsequent SI documents pertaining to him. But no one said a word to Peter, partly because it was fake, so it wasn’t like he could complain.

Mostly, they told themselves they kept quiet out of pity.

Let the boy have his fantasy; it wasn’t hurting anyone but him, and frankly, he needed to learn that being the smartest person in the room didn’t mean he was superior or deserved special treatment.

(the fact that he neither thought this nor behaved as such was carefully ignored under the justification that it must be a façade hiding a devious, unscrupulous mind)

And when it inevitably blew up in his face, well, that’s what happened when you lie like that. He should have known better.

Naturally, none of the teachers or staff made the slightest attempt to stop any of the students from harassing Peter about his ‘internship’, but they also never noticed that it wasn’t Peter who talked about it, and he rarely defended himself. That job fell to Ned Leeds, who had accidentally let the cat out of the bag. But the school as an entity didn’t want to know that, so they just refused to see it.

(Peter was hardly the only student this was happening to, either; he was currently the only one with both an IQ and an inherent talent for engineering to potentially rival Tony Stark, but one of the coding prodigies (not Ned) was taking some college coding classes from Stanford and had an unpaid internship with Apple that the school also didn’t believe and whose reports got the same treatment as Peter’s. There was an English student who was so gifted at writing that St Anne’s College, part of Oxford University, had actively head-hunted her and offered her a full scholarship; Midtown had nothing to do with it, so it was was dragging its feet about providing her transcripts.)

The sad fact was, the majority of adults in the school — something that was true of most schools — were resentful of any student, any kid, getting perks and opportunities that they hadn’t gotten, either in school themselves or now, as grown-ups with degrees and experience. They despised the fact that the children they were tasked with teaching had better prospects than they did, even now, and few of those teachers were mature enough to accept it and move past it.

When Midtown won a field trip to Stark Industries, the teachers all groaned. Yeah, it was going to be amazing to see, but that meant they had to deal with Peter Parker and his little fantasy world. When May Parker included a note telling Roger that he was staying at the Tower for his internship after the trip was over, he rolled his eyes and ranted for a solid twenty minutes to his sympathetic colleagues, but ultimately decided not to say anything. It wasn’t like it would help; the boy was stubbornly sticking to his story and kept bringing in reports and internship logs, despite the fact that he hadn’t been credited for a single thing.

The day of the trip itself, your standard Wednesday, Roger woke up with a headache that spitefully refused to get better, despite copious amounts of aspirin, coffee, and a sugar rush that would catapult an elephant to the moon, disguised as frozen French toast. Herding a group of over-excited STEM students onto a bus at 7:30 in the fricking morning made his head literally throb and while he appreciated that Flash was trying to stop Peter from embarrassing them all, his voice was shrill and grating and today, it was spiking Roger’s headache into something dangerously close to a migraine. Thankfully, they arrived at the Tower before he was forced to gag the boy, leaving him with the now-relatively minor trouble of corralling ten high students into a single file line so they could enter the building with at least a modicum of dignity.

Unsurprisingly, it was Michelle Jones who did the bulk of the work for him; the other students were wary of both her observational skills and her sharp, acidic tongue, and she wasn’t afraid to use it (none of the teachers allowed themselves to notice that she never targeted Peter or Ned and in fact often defended them, lest they be forced to admit that Michelle Jones did not take kindly to liars, so if she was supporting Parker’s claims, there might just be something valid in them. Since she possessed the ability to know exactly how far she could go without drawing unwanted attention, they felt safe in ignoring her stance on Parker and his claims).

So it was that Roger Harrington finally set foot in Stark Industries New York Headquarters for the first time in his life. He had long desired to visit the place and secretly harbored a wish to work there, but he possessed neither the aptitude nor the imagination to do so. He was highly intelligent and good at physics, but that was it; in the world of STEM, he was average. He simply didn’t have that special something that would get Tony Stark’s attention, he knew it, and he had accepted it. But there was no way in the universe that a 15-year-old boy did.

Therefore, when the tour guide didn’t give Peter a second look, he ignored Flash crowing in triumph and mentally ticked a box labeled ‘lie’. When the security system accepted his ID and let him in with no special greeting, he ticked off another box and followed the last student through the line.

And froze, a scowl coming on his lips when he saw Peter talking animatedly to one of the security guards. The boy was gesturing expansively and the woman was nodding along, smiling at him. To Roger’s indignant eyes, her smile was tight and fake, and he sighed. Why he was surprised was a mystery, given that Peter continued to bring in fake reports seven months later, but he’d clearly bribed or charmed this poor woman into pretending she knew him; probably charmed her, given his family’s notable lack of money, but still: it was unacceptable and he needed to say something.

However, Flash beat him to it and sneered, “That’s pathetic, Penis. Bribing a security guard to pretend she knows you.”

A visibly annoyed Ned started to reply but cut himself off when Peter shook his head. They had a silent conversation that Roger couldn’t begin to make heads or tails of, but the end result was the two of them passing through the security check with no trouble or delays. Had Roger bothered to look, he would have seen the dark, angry frown on the security guard’s face as she glared . . . but not at Peter. Her ire was aimed at Flash, backed by the sound of her furiously typing something on her computer. But he didn’t look back, nor did he take a few seconds to wonder about the dichotomy of his own thoughts.

He would come to regret that.

~~~

The first pebble was jolted.

The mountain didn’t notice.

~~~

Two hours later, Roger officially had a migraine. He was also seething with a dark, frustrated rage. Thankfully, Parker wasn’t going around bragging about working for SI, but what he was doing wasn’t any better; so far, he’d pretended to know four more employees, all of whom worked on different floors and in different departments — which only served to prove that he was lying. Had he actually been an intern, he would have been restricted to one department and likely one location, with limited access to projects and people. There was no way on earth he knew people in HR and Finance, nor would he be on a first-name basis with the Theoretical Physics lab director.

Hearing that obviously faked conversation had pushed Roger over the edge and he’d yanked Parker away, scolding him in a not-really-quiet voice about how humiliating it was that he was so determined to besmirch Midtown’s good name (yes, he really said ‘besmirched’) and how bad it was that he was so lost in his fantasy that he thought it was okay to bribe an SI employee, and if he didn’t knock it off right this second, he was going back to the bus for the rest of the trip.

Either way, he had detention for the rest of the year if not outright suspension, and there was going to be a serious, official meeting with Morita on Monday, and, since he’d dragged a company as influential as Stark Industries into things, possibly the school board as well. His behavior had gone on more than long enough and it was past time for Peter to grow up. Lying to his classmates and teachers, especially about something so serious, wasn’t the way to get into a good college and if he thought adding bribery to that was going to help, he really was stupid.

By the time Roger finished his lecture, Parker was white-faced and dead-eyed, and actually shaking with what Roger assumed was fear and, hopefully, embarrassment.

Well, hallelujah.

Maybe he’d finally gotten through to the boy.

And thank heaven it was time for lunch; teacher and student both needed the chance to calm down and collect themselves. So he followed the guide with relief, one hand clamped firmly on Parker’s arm, as they headed for the food court, and pointedly ignoring both Ned and Michelle’s furious glares.

He didn’t know that Ned had recorded the whole thing and sent it to Michelle just in case, and that Tony Stark would be receiving a copy within the hour. Nor did he see the alarmed expression of the lab director he’d accused Peter of bribing, one that morphed into outrage as he physically pulled the kid away. And he was oblivious to the angry looks being thrown at him by the interns and employees who had heard his blistering reprimand . . . though if he had, it would never in a million years have occurred to him that they might have taken offense at his accusations and reported him to people who could — and would — do something about it.

He would come to regret that, too.

~~~

The pebble was forcefully dislodged.

The mountain whispered a warning.

~~~

Roger had managed to calm down by the time lunch was over, though he kept a gimlet eye on Parker as the group headed for the Biochemical Lab. To his great relief, the boy hunched his shoulders and remained firmly sandwiched between Michelle and Ned. He didn’t even seem to register Flash’s gleeful comments about how he was definitely suspended and maybe even expelled for his lies and bribing employees, and Roger really couldn’t stop Flash from speaking because he wasn’t wrong, and Parker desperately needed a reality check. Maybe hearing it from some of his classmates, his peers, would finally clue him in, because God knew that the staff hadn’t had any luck. On top of that, Ned was his enabler and Michelle also appeared to believe him, something that did puzzle Roger a little, given her no-nonsense personality and strong dislike for frivolity.

Still, that only showed that the boy was a better liar and manipulator than anyone would have credited him for, which only continued to prove the point.

Therefore, when he saw yet another employee catch sight of Peter and light up, grinning wildly as she trotted over to him, Roger cursed and headed that way, hoping to head this humiliating encounter off before it actually happened. He wasn’t able to navigate the mass of students and interns quickly enough, unfortunately, and gritted his teeth as he listened to the woman ask Parker to look over an equation for her. That was already irritating, but then she stated that the team had gotten a little confused after Parker’s help a few days prior and needed him to clarify his suggestion and Roger just . . . saw red.

Literally.

His blood pressure spiked so high and so fast and so hard that a blood vessel in his eye burst, and smoke was billowing out of his ears as he made a beeline for Parker. Rage swept through him when he blinked and realized that Parker was actually looking at the fucking equation and making notes and he hissed in impotent fury, storming over to them and forcing his way in front of Parker. Startled, he dropped the extremely expensive StarkPad he was holding and they all watched, dumbfounded, as it hit the ground and bounced several times. Miraculously, it didn’t shatter; hell, it didn’t even crack, and in the back of his mind, Roger was impressed at the engineering feat he’d just witnessed.

At the front of his thoughts, however, was his uncontrolled fury at the knowledge that despite repeated warnings, threats, and guarantees about his punishment for continuing this charade, Parker still refused to admit defeat.

“What did I say about bribing employees, Parker?” he spat as he forced the boy toward the back of the lab, chest heaving from the force of his anger, and a spurt of satisfaction swept through him when Parker’s eyes went wide with alarm. He didn’t hear the woman’s affronted gasp of “what?!”, nor did he see her send a message on her tablet, her pissed-off gaze locked on his retreating back. His focus was narrowed on Parker, and he was glaring with so much force, he half-expected a tiny hole to appear in the brat’s forehead.

So it understandably caught him off-guard when someone cleared their throat right beside his ear. His surprised jump sent Parker skittering back, well away from Roger, though his wide-eyed alarm didn’t abate, and the sight was deeply satisfying. It was too late, but seeing Peter Parker finally cowed as a result of his own actions was something Roger had wanted to see for two years. So when a deep voice said, “Roger Harrington, you need to come with me,” he tripped over nothing and almost face-planted from shock — and his insolent student didn’t even try to help him!

Fortunately, he was able to stay upright, though the imperious sneer he intended to aim at whoever had so rudely interrupted his lecture fizzled out when he realized the rude interloper in question was Happy Hogan. His brain promptly bluescreened and the only response he could muster was, “Huh?”

Hogan’s expression darkened and in a low, angry growl, he repeated, “You need to come with me. Along with that one.” He jerked his chin at Flash a—wait, Flash? What th—why did he need to talk to Flash? It was Peter who was lying and causing all the trouble. Before he could gather his wits to respond, never mind ask a coherent question, one of Hogan’s men strode over to Flash and herded him to Roger and Hogan.

The wide-eyed astonishment of the other students would have been funny but for Roger’s ever-deepening confusion . . . but he did notice that not only were Ned and Michelle NOT the least bit surprised, they were both smirking with what looked like vindictive satisfaction as they shielded Parker from view. The implications of that wouldn’t register until it was much too late, but when they did, it was in the form of a giant, flashing neon sign screaming ‘Dipshit!’.

Flash and an increasingly-worried Roger were quickly escorted down to . . . whatever floor, Roger didn’t even try to keep track and honestly, who cared? . . . and were unceremoniously herded into a conference room. Flash tripped over his own feet and tried to keep from falling by grabbing his teacher’s shoulder, which in turn kept Roger from realizing that the room wasn’t empty. So when he finally managed to right them both and get his bearings, his efforts at regaining his composure were promptly rendered moot when he came face to face with what looked like a miniature school board meeting: five people, all of whom looked supremely unhappy, were seated symmetrically at the middle of the long table, each with a small laptop in front of them and, incongruously, a pen and pad of paper as well. Hogan took a seat by the door, crossing his arms and fixing Roger and Flash with a steady, unblinking gaze.

No introductions were offered.

“Sit down, gentlemen,” the slim, youthful-looking man in the direct center ordered instead. His voice was rough and gravelly, at complete odds to his ‘I’m a Nerd Herder at the Buy More’ appearance, and it was jarring enough that Roger unconsciously obeyed. Flash did not and after a minute, he was forced to tug firmly on the boy’s sleeve to get him to sit down as well. Luckily, one quick pull was enough and then the two of them stared in a very awkward, strained silence at what seemed like a formal disciplinary board. The silence stretched . . . and stretched . . . and stretched . . . and stre—

The sudden sound of rustling and footsteps behind them made Roger tense, but he managed to keep from looking as the newcomers seated themselves further down the table. Flash wasn’t nearly as disciplined and Roger was hesitant to stop him this time; there were few occasions it was legal for him to grab a student. Making him sit when ordered by people who had that authority was one of them; keeping him from turning his head when he hadn’t been forbidden, expressly or implicitly, was not. So it was that Roger found himself giving sideways looks to three people he didn’t recognize . . . and the young woman Parker had been harassing in the lab just before Roger had been brought here.

Oh!

They must be here to question him about Parker’s behavior and lies. Well, it was about time, though he wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. Roger didn’t like Peter Parker, but he didn’t want to ruin his life, either. He just . . . he just wanted to teach the boy a lesson, bring him down a few pegs, and make him learn a little humility. It wasn’t Roger’s fault the kid had ignored every warning he’d been given and squandered every chance he’d had to come clean. And now, well, it was out of Roger’s hands.

But . . . why was Flash here? Yes, he’d seen and heard Parker’s repeated lies and trickery, but he was a minor, a student on a field trip. The only possible reason for his presence was that he’d seen or heard something Roger hadn’t, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to say anything yet.

Yes, that made sense.

Reassured by his own reasoning, Roger relaxed a little and returned his attention to the panel in front of him, waiting semi-patiently for proceedings to begin.

He would never know he should have regretted this.

~~~

The pebble balanced on a knife’s edge, teetering between safety and unparalleled devastation.

The mountain shrugged. It had warned them.

~~~

“Roger Harrington, we are here because you and Mr. Eugene Thompson have both been heard and reported of accusing multiple employees of Stark Industries of accepting bribes,” the nameless man in charge abruptly said, startling Roger and Flash badly. They exchanged a quick look of bewilderment before turning back to the group, and Roger swallowed. He was nervous and wary now, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He just knew he didn’t like it.

“As you can imagine, these are very serious allegations and we do not take such things lightly here,” the unnamed man continued, his eyes unreadable. “So we have to ask, what proof do you have of these accusations?”

. . . what?

“What?” Roger choked, completely lost. He couldn’t begin to make sense of what was happening, but he was sure it wasn’t leading anywhere good for him, and that was wrong. Parker was the problem here, not Roger and Flash. Parker was the miscreant they should be talking to, not the teacher and classmate who’d tried so hard all day to keep him from causing trouble.

Flash, however, didn’t grasp the oddity of the question and enthusiastically said, “One of my classmates is lying about having an internship here, so he paid those people to pretend to know him. And now he’s finally getting exposed for the liar he is.”

The silence was so loud, it was screaming, and Roger inadvertently winced as his migraine throbbed back to life.

“I see,” a different man said slowly, his eyebrows beetling together as he moved unnerving grey eyes from Flash to Roger. “And you, Mr. Harrington? What proof do you have that the SI employees you accused are taking bribes?”

Son of a bitch. Roger was screwed. It was obvious Peter was lying, and equally obvious he had done something underhanded today, but knowledge wasn’t enough. Roger had no actual, physical evidence to prove his suspicions and this was about to get ugly.

“I, uh, I don’t have anything specific,” he began quietly, forcing himself to hold the gaze of the still-nameless man in charge of things. “As Mr. Thompson said, one of my students is lying about working here and has been pretending to know people. I’ve been trying for weeks to get him to stop, to admit the ruse, but he refuses and I — well, it’s been — things have been difficult,” he stuttered, feeling nervous sweat sliding down the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t trying . . . I . . . I wasn’t accusing the employees of anything, I promise. I was just making sure the student understood that I knew he was — well, being untruthful, and that he needed to stop harassing these poor people and involving them in his charade.”

This silence was longer, louder, and so heavy it felt like there was a ton of bricks crushing Roger’s chest. He really was afraid that trying to do the right thing was about to bitch slap him and he didn’t have a clue about how to stop it . . . other than laying out his arguments that Peter Parker was actively trying to defraud Stark Industries with his fake employment claims.

After all, it wasn’t like anyone at Midtown could have called Stark Industries at any point to verify his internship.

Or the lack thereof.

But Roger wasn’t a particularly introspective person on a good day, so this logical thought and its corresponding conclusion wasn’t something he — or any of the school's staff — had ever considered. Once he’d initially denied the assertion, he’d never once thought about confirming anything, though the ramifications of that failure wouldn’t register for several more hours. He would come to regret this as he regretted nothing else in his life.

“So . . .” Nameless Man #1 summarized, looking furious as he glared at both Roger and Flash with such disdain that even Flash was cowed. “Despite having zero evidence of wrongdoing, both of you felt it was acceptable to not only accuse multiple employees of criminal behavior, but you did so in public, without thought for any consequences?”

Oh. Wow. It sounded really bad when it was put that way, and it was wrong. That wasn’t what Roger had intended! He’d honestly just been trying to keep Parker from embarrassing Roger, and, more importantly, Midtown. He had no chance to object, though — and at the man’s next words, his blood chilled and he finally became aware that he might just be in actual trouble.

“You are incredibly fortunate that the only people who heard such nefarious accusations were other SI employees,” he intoned, looking and sounding so forbidding that Flash leaned back, eyes wide with alarm. Roger just felt cold. “Had potential investors or possible employees heard you, or, heaven help us, a competitor, the damage to our reputation, both as a company and to the individuals in question, would have been immeasurable. We would have no choice but to press official charges for slander and have you arrested. As it stands, we are filing a lawsuit for slander and defamation of character against you and the minor child Mr. Thompson via his parents for your false accusations. I cannot impress on you just how serious this is. It is a crime, Mr. Harrington. We are showing great restraint and leniency in not pressing charges.”

He had just barely finished speaking when the next blow arrived, dislodging another pebble and making the mountain rumble.

“Let the official record show that you have been served,” the blond woman announced as she approached Roger and handed him a sealed manila envelope, which he accepted without really understanding what had just happened, because his brain had blocked off the outside world while it tried to process the last five minutes.

It took several minutes for the roaring in Roger’s ears to subside, while those vile, shocking, unbelievable words kept ricocheting across his mind.

Lies. Slander. Lawsuit. Defamation. Lawsuit. Lawsuit. Lies. Defamation. Damage. Lies. Lies. Lawsuit. Lieslieslieslies.

LIES.

His outrage over unjustly being called a liar finally woke up from its shock at such ugly accusations and Roger straightened, scowling fiercely at the people in front of him —

— and was once again knocked on his ass.

At least this time, it was metaphorical.

“Moving on,” said Nameless Man #3, his beard longer than Roger would have thought a company as prestigious as Stark Industries would allow. “You stated that one of your students is lying about having an internship here. Assuming that’s true — and ignoring your refusal to mention this to anyone who could investigate, like Security, who had several people present when you first arrived — what is this individual’s name?”

At that, Roger was shocked to find himself hesitating. He didn’t really want to get Parker in this kind of trouble, which was why it hadn’t occurred to him to tell anyone at SI about his suspicions, but he’d been well and neatly backed into a corner. He had no choice now.

“His, uh . . . his name is Peter Parker.”

~~~

The pebble tipped over the edge.

The mountain quivered in anticipation.

~~~

“I’m sorry,” Hogan choked, eyes full of shock. “Did you just say Peter Parker is lying about being an intern here?”

That was strange. Roger wouldn’t think anyone would be this surprised at hearing that. A company as big and well-known as SI probably had dozens of such claims every week. Still, he’d been asked a question, so he nodded.

“Yes. He’s been carrying on this charade for—”

“This Peter Parker?” the other man demanded, gesturing at . . . nothing? What th—oh. A holographic image (so cool!!!) shimmered into existence, showing a picture that was unmistakably Midtown’s very own Peter Parker, and Roger nodded again.

“That’s him,” he confirmed. “And he’s been lying about interning here for—”

“Seven months, one week, and two days,” the man in charge of things said, his eyes burning with something that took a startled Roger a minute to recognize was rage. “And what do you mean by ‘charade’? I notarized his employee packet myself and got verbal and photographic confirmation that the courier successfully delivered the packet to Mr. Parker’s principal, who signed for it.”

. . . what.

. . . WHAT?

. . . WHAT?!?!

“What?!” Roger gasped, swaying dangerously in his chair. “I don’t — we — wait. Wait just a minute. I mean, yes, we got the packet. But we shredded it since it was obvious that Parker had bribed the courier to cover his lies because SI doesn’t hire high school students, and certainly not ones in his circumstances.”

The resulting cacophony of loud, overlapping voices made both Roger and Flash, who he’d forgotten was there, cringe back, and the boy accidentally pushed the manila envelope directly in front of Roger. The sight distracted him for a minute and he stared at it, remembering again those unbelievable words ‘slander and defamation of character’ and ‘lawsuit’. Anger swelled up as he finally took in what had just happened and he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d been trying to do the right thing by keeping Parker from embarrassing the school and putting SI in a bad position, and he was the one being punished?!

Who the hell did these people think they were?!

Fortunately for everyone concerned, he had no chance to voice this thought. Whatever . . . debate? . . . had been going on among the SI panel ended so suddenly, Flash jumped in his chair at the abrupt cessation of sound, and Roger flinched hard when he looked up and realized everyone in the room was staring at him.

Oh. No. No, they weren’t. They weren’t staring at all.

To a man, they were glaring at him with such bitter vitriol, he flinched again.

He still didn’t completely understand what was going on here, but he could no longer deny the fact that he was apparently in serious trouble. And because he didn’t understand why, he didn’t have the slightest idea about how to help himself.

Which immediately became a moot point at Nameless Man #1’s next words.

“To clarify,” he rumbled, leaning forward and pinning Roger with a ferocious glower that made the hairs on his arms stand straight up. “You just stated, in front of witnesses, that Midtown School of Science and Technology received an official employment packet from Stark Industries, sent by our own courier and signed for by James Morita, Principal, and it was shredded. Without a single person even attempting to open it and at least review the contents.”

Umm. Okay, that sounded bad. But it was Peter Parker. The kid had started lying about things for attention right after his uncle died and the more people tried to steer him back on the right track, the more he doubled-down on his lies. And how would anyone know the woman who’d brought the package had been an official SI employee? Not that it would have mattered, Parker still could have bribed her, but . . . but apparently he hadn’t.

He hadn’t, because his lies . . . weren’t. His internship was legitimate. The whole situation was real. All of it. It was all real. According to people who would not stoop to being bribed by a teenager and certainly didn’t have the temperament to play some kind of elaborate joke on unsuspecting high school teachers, Peter Parker was an intern for Stark Industries. He had been for months.

Oh, no. Oh, fuck him up a tree without Vaseline. He had — and Morita and the others were — oh, no. He was screwed, but . . . but what else were they supposed to think? Parker had no money and fewer connections, so how on earth could he have gotten in with a company as prestigious as Stark Industries? It defied all logic to think that a boy with nothing and nobody had achieved what a huge number of doctoral candidates from prominent, well-respected colleges couldn’t do, and yet, it seemed that he had.

Which was . . . well . . . okay, yes, he and the staff might have . . . misstepped . . . in their handling of the paperwork, but Roger stood by the decision. Given what they had known at the time, Parker lying about things was the only logical conclusion to draw.

“Why I have been summoned to a Code Orange meeting, Happy?” a voice suddenly rang out from behind him, and Roger came dangerously close to falling out of his chair when he realized that Pepper Potts had just entered the room.

Wait. Pepper Potts? Why would sh—

No. Nonononono. Oh, dear God, no. This couldn’t be happening. Surely this wasn’t that big an issue. Midtown had shredded the packet, so no sensitive information had been released, and each ‘project report’ Parker emailed over was instantly deleted, meaning no information had gotten out that way, either. There was no reason whatsoever for the CEO of Stark Industries to be standing in this room, asking about something that couldn’t possibly be of any personal relevance to her.

. . . wait. Waitwaitwaitwait.

Wait just a damn minute.

Why did the Head of Security know Peter Parker’s name?

Assuming this wasn’t some cosmic joke that Roger just wasn’t quite getting, then Parker might actually be a legitimate intern. Okay, fine. But there was no reason at all for the man who was essentially third in command at SI to know his name.

While he was ruminating, Hogan was giving Pepper a quick but thorough rundown.

And Roger Harrington got an up-close and personal view of what the people of Pompeii felt when Vesuvius exploded.

~~~

The pebble bounced gleefully down the mountain, knocking into rocks and other pebbles like it was a game of Plinko on The Price is Right.

The mountain laughed.

~~~

Up until that precise moment in time, Roger had assumed that being slapped with a lawsuit that was probably going to bankrupt him was the worst thing he would ever experience.

He was so very, very naïve.

Having to explain, in detail, to Pepper Potts why, exactly, he had not only falsely accused several of her employees of a very serious crime, but he’d also been actively complicit in the willful destruction of her official company documents — which they had records of, because of course — was the worst moment of his life.

In fact, he could say with complete certainty that it would be the worst moment of anyone’s life.

Well, the universe couldn’t let that stand, now could it?

“Unbelievable,” Ms. Potts finally said after staring at Roger for what had to be three or four hours with the most complicated expression he’d ever seen — after she quit breathing fire, which was . . . new. Terrifying. And yet, somehow, not remotely surprising. “I can honestly say that I’ve never seen such a case of wanton, malicious negligence in my life — and I’ve had the extreme misfortune to have worked with Justin Hammer.”

Roger cringed, feeling that insult all the way to his toes.

Ms. Potts just sighed and turned to Nameless Man #1. “Paul, this will have to be fast-tracked. I see that Shawna has been her usual efficient self and gotten the first lawsuit prepared, but this one will be multi-tiered. I don’t just want the school on the paperwork; I want every single individual who was actively involved.”

Oh, dear God.

Roger actually felt the panic attack building and sucked in several deep, almost frantic, breaths to try and stave it off. He somehow managed to succeed, but being promptly met with the cold, disgusted gaze of Happy Hogan made him reconsider which was the better option.

Maybe if he was in the hospital recovering from a panic-induced heart attack, Ms. Potts would have mercy and not ruin his life for making a few reasonable assumptions.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Boss, but I have information that may be useful.”

The voice came from nowhere and scared Roger (and Flash, given the way he jumped) out of a decade of life. Everyone else just looked curious. And, in Hogan’s case, vaguely constipated as well.

“Go on, FRIDAY,” Ms. Potts said, sinking into a chair and gesturing at nothing.

“Last Thursday, Dr. Jenkins sent Boss an email asking if he had heard anything from Midtown regarding Mr. Parker, as Dr. Jenkins had not and he found that curious. His email states he should have received at least two follow-ups regarding the submitted reports, and he also mentioned that to his knowledge, no one had contacted his department to confirm the internship itself. He also received an email with a video attachment from Ned Leeds, a recording that was taken today.”

In the grand scheme of Roger’s new worldview, he found this only mildly alarming, so when blood drained from the face of everyone in the room, he was understandably confused.

“Oh, no,” Ms. Potts whispered, clearly horrified, and Hogan cursed as he yanked out his phone. “Has he seen them yet?”

A long pause ensued, and Roger could suddenly swear he heard the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey coming through the speakers.

The conference room door slammed open and Tony Fucking Stark sauntered in, wearing a suit that cost a third of Roger’s annual salary, gold-accented red sunglasses, and a wide smile so fake that it hurt to look at.

Then he slowly, deliberately, took the shades off.

And looked straight at Roger.

He hadn’t wet himself since he was four years old. It still wasn’t the worst thing to happen to him today. It wasn’t even the most humiliating.

No. No, the prize for that came when Pepper Potts, who had been looking at a tablet, made an inarticulate sound of rage as she surged to her feet. Tony Fucking Stark twisted his head to look at her, turned white as a sheet, and actually threw himself bodily between his fiancée and Roger, arms spread wide as he started talking in a shockingly soothing voice, trying to convince his company’s CEO, a person renowned for her calm, even disposition, that killing a stupid schoolteacher and destroying Queens was the kind of overkill that Tony was famous for, not Pepper.

And even with that inescapable logic, and her fiancé serving as an actual human wall, she still had to think about it.

But eventually, miraculously, it worked. Ms. Potts stopped breathing fire and sat back down, with Tony Fucking Stark settling himself next to her, holding her hand. Any reassurance Roger might have taken from this was wiped out by the fury blazing in their eyes.

This was real. Roger had fucked up, big time, and even though he had never intended to hurt anyone, nor did he want to, it didn’t matter. 

That single, tiny, inconsequential pebble he had never noticed — and would have ignored if he had seen it — had done its job and caused an avalanche that would result in such widespread destruction, it would become a cautionary tale in law schools across the world.

It was finally too late for regrets.

~~~

The pebble landed lightly on the ground at the base of the mountain and watched eagerly to see the devastation its actions had wrought.

The mountain gleefully obliged.

~~~

Roger didn’t speak again until the next day. He wasn’t even given a chance, not that it would have mattered. He was too traumatized by the utter destruction of his worldview to register anything until he finally got home. It seemed that Stark had seen the email and had gotten the gist of the situation before he stepped into the room — including Ned’s recording of Roger’s last, fatal outburst — and had taken the whole thing extremely personally, something else that Roger wouldn’t find odd until it was much too late.

Because that wasn’t bad enough, SI’s legal department proceeded to show exactly why it was as famous as it was feared and the only thing that kept Roger from being hauled off to the local precinct in handcuffs was the fact that his presence as a listed defendant was required when the lawsuit was presented to Morita, both for him personally and Midtown as an institution.

Roger had thought his experience at SI was devastating.

It really wasn’t. It was, at worst, moderately bad.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with Jim Morita, the school’s vice principal, both high school counselors, and the five teachers who had been caught, either on video or on audio, accusing Peter of lying and/or trashing his internship reports, while they failed to explain their justification to Tony Fucking Stark, Pepper Potts, CEO, an actual cavalcade of attorneys, and the entirety of the school board?

That was devastating.

First and foremost, it was awful because they were faced with inescapable proof that yes, Peter Parker did have an internship with Stark Industries.

Oh, and he also knew Tony Stark personally. And Pepper Potts. And Happy Hogan.

Second, now that they were no longer able to deny and ignore this fact, not a single one of them had a reason for their behavior and attitudes beyond ‘we didn't want to believe and also because the internet said so’ to justify their actions.

Since SI’s lawyers were both thorough and highly suspicious people, their on-site and immediate research into Parker’s situation revealed that the staff was very well aware of Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson’s vicious bullying of him, which was also verified by the school’s security cameras and, apparently, Parker’s watch, which had a ‘record’ function that he wasn’t afraid to use. A random review of the school recordings revealed the exponentially-increasing amount of verbal abuse; he had also gotten . . . physical . . . a few times, which was bad for everyone, and they all cringed on seeing their willful negligence on screen in all its scratchy but still clear black-and-white glory, while also hearing it in unrelenting Surround Sound.

Then the random recording showed Flash violently shoving Parker into the railing of the gym bleachers, and time just stopped. The video didn’t have sound, but Parker’s watch did. So they saw the agony when his forearm snapped, while they heard the echo of the actual break and his shocked gasp of pain.

That was horrifying and shocked the staff because there hadn’t been any indicator that things were getting that bad. But when the physical assault was followed by Flash jeering about how useless ‘Penis’ was and how it was no wonder his parents and uncle had died to get away from him before he strolled away, leaving Peter crumpled in a heap on the floor . . .

It was louder in space than it was in that conference room.

Then Tony Fucking Stark bellowed in pure rage and lifted his hand, which was now covered by a gauntlet.

And the repulsor was primed to fire.

Watching Happy Hogan wrap his arms around Tony Fucking Stark from behind, bodily pick him up, and haul him out of the room while chanting that he couldn’t legally or morally kill a teenager was one of the most surreal moments of Roger’s life, not to mention the second-most terrifying. When one of the lawyers did the same to Pepper Potts, who had smoke literally coming out of her ears, while begging her not to destroy the school yet, time stopped.

BOOMBOOMBOOM

The shaking walls of the school meant that Iron Man had demolished . . . something . . . and everyone from Midtown abruptly realized how close they’d just come to death. Three people literally fainted out of fear, two of them were crying as they crawled under the table, and a few of them doubtless peed themselves. But Roger wasn’t one of them; he’d become numb to the situation when he was escorted out of Stark Industries by six armed guards and driven to his home, where he was given strict instructions not to say a word to anyone about anything to do with SI or Peter Parker, and if he did, his ass would be in prison before he could blink. No one could be made aware of the situation prior to the lawsuits formally being served, whether they were random people on the street, anyone on social media, and particularly the staff at Midtown.

(A bolt of totally inappropriate humor shot through Roger at that, because if they thought for one minute that Flash would keep his mouth shut, they’d clearly never met a teenager before. He would never know that Flash got a similar escort, accompanied by a lawyer, and his parents were too busy being stunned, horrified, and furious at being sued for their son’s loud mouth to worry about anything else. He didn’t even get a chance to go to his room first; everyone piled around the dining room table and explanations were demanded, received, questioned, explained, refuted, explained again, and finally accepted. It was a very long night for everyone)

To make sure he understood they were serious about their internal gag order, one of the guards stayed all night and in the morning, Roger was taken to Midtown. It occurred to him at one point to wonder just how legal this was, but a quick look at the clenched jaw of his . . . escort — who was armed — made him decide it wasn’t worth his life to ask, much less object.

The next thing anybody knew, a trio of police detectives were entering the room, looking grim. They were followed by Tony Fucking Stark, who was still enraged but had recovered enough poise to keep his temper. Through the roaring in his ears, Roger heard him order the recordings to be played again, and after they were all forced to suffer their shame a second time, this time in front of police witnesses, he snapped his fingers at one of his lawyers, who promptly produced a set of papers she handed to the cops. Words like ‘pressing charges’ and ‘don’t fucking care that he’s a minor, he’s more than old enough to be tried as an adult’ and ‘arrest him now, because if I see him, I’ll kill him’ broke through the white noise, but Roger didn’t even try to protest. The avalanche had begun and all he could do now was try to find any sliver of shelter.

There was none. Not for him.

And it Just. Wouldn’t. Stop.

The lawyers kept digging and quickly exposed one of Midtown’s darkest, dirtiest secrets: Peter’s situation wasn’t unique. He was simply the latest in a line of students that Midtown hadn’t believed when they claimed apprenticeships or internships or scholarships, a line that went back a decade. That cheerful discovery sparked a flurry of phone calls and the room filled with a taut, furious silence that got deeper and colder with each new piece of damning information they found. The staff had long since given up and were huddled together at one corner of the table, terrified at the realization that their lives were now permanently ruined but unable to seek comfort from their fellow cohorts.

It kept getting worse, too, because of course it did. Avalanches didn’t know when to stop. They had no idea that utter destruction wasn’t actually necessary, and they didn’t care that bringing other mountains down with them was just plain spiteful.

When the police discovered the true depths of the bullying in Midtown, more officers were summoned, as were a horde of parents, and chaos was unleashed. When the lawyers finally realized just how deep the corruption went regarding outside opportunities, the chaos exploded into outright mayhem. It got so out of control that the school board had no choice but to step in and close the school for the rest of the week. There were too many teachers and staff in trouble, which resulted in too much disruption to the students, and that was completely separate from the sensitive nature of their discoveries.

For the rest of his life, Roger wouldn’t remember what actually happened after Flash was arrested for assault and battery and hauled from the school in handcuffs, crying, with his stone-faced father following in silence. It said much that the powerful, quietly arrogant Elliot Thompson wasn’t defending his son, something that Tony Fucking Stark clearly understood, given the dark satisfaction on his face.

And Flash was just the first; by the time the investigation was done, eight more students had been arrested and charged. With his world disintegrating around him, Roger was vaguely aware that he was personally served with two more lawsuits, one as part of the suit filed against Midtown and the other as an individual who had willfully participated in fraud, but the full impact wouldn’t clearly register until long after he returned to his home.

He was also officially charged with slander the next day, and got an up-close look at the power Tony Stark and Pepper Potts wielded when his court-appointed attorneys — both of them, because one couldn’t be a criminal lawyer and a civil one and Roger certainly didn't have the money to hire one good lawyer, never mind two — each advised him to plead guilty to the charges.

Since he didn’t have a record, it was highly likely he’d get either a deferred sentence or probation, combined with community service, because there was no chance whatsoever of him escaping any of the three lawsuits. Stark Industries might settle out of court, but it wouldn’t be for a few thousand dollars. Their advice was correct: he escaped prison with a deferred sentence and 2000 hours of community service. It cost him his teaching credentials, which ruined his career, and his criminal record left him with virtually no employment options. On the civil side, Stark Industries did indeed settle . . . for a combined amount that Roger couldn’t pay if he lived for a literal millennia.

But he was still more fortunate than some of the others. Flash was indeed tried as an adult and the preponderance of evidence — and not just against Peter Parker — saw him sentenced to five years in prison, and several of his peers were in similar situations. Morita and Clinton, the vice principal, were found guilty of 37 counts of fraud and God knew how many counts of Negligent Supervision and they also went to prison, as did both counselors.

The teachers fared a little better; no criminal charges were filed against them, but the lawsuits ruined every one of them financially and the scandal destroyed them professionally. The entire school board was compelled to resign, though Roger didn’t know anything else about that particular issue. The only reason he knew as much as he did was from the news, which simply reported that Midtown had been shut down for the last month of the semester and was being completely rebuilt from the ground up. The reports on how many of the staff had survived the purge were conflicting, but Roger doubted there were many.

It was unnerving to realize just how little he cared, now, about things that had once been the focus of his life, but something about having the worst, most odious parts of your soul displayed in public for the entire world to see made a man’s priorities shift. Losing everything in the span of 24 hours kept him from being able to hide from himself. Being forced to accept a janitorial job at Stark Industries because there were literally no other options — Tony Stark's last act of vengeance — would have been humiliating had Roger still been able to feel any emotions, deep or not.

He never spoke to Peter Parker again, but watching him and Ned Leeds enter the building every day for their internships came the closest to breaking through the wall of emotional apathy. Even then, after everything, neither his shame nor his resentment was strong enough to overcome his resignation, which just showed the truth about what kind of man Roger truly was. Still, being forced to witness your own inadequacy, day in and day out, with no reprieve, would kill anyone’s spirit, and Roger Harrington had always been weak.

So when he finally collapsed under the weight of his own failures, it came as no surprise to the few people who might have noticed.

He wasn’t missed, and he wasn’t mourned.

Nothing was left of Roger Harrington but the fading echoes of his careless whisper.

~~~

The pebble landed softly and formed a new foundation.

And it waited patiently for the next careless whisper.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Here, Kitty, Kitty

Tony Stark could safely say that he was used to the odd, the strange, and the unusual happening to him. Hell, he had gotten used to the downright crazy, insane, and impossible — and they tended to come in threes like that. He often wondered (as did the people around him) if the universe took that pragmatic attitude as a challenge, because some of the stuff he had to deal with was . . . well, put it this way: Ripley’s Believe It or Not had given up on calling him because he had too many entries.

Suffice to say, it was hard to surprise him or even throw him for a loop.

But even Tony could never have predicted what would happen the afternoon he followed his protégé/son/pain in the ass mini-me, one Peter Parker, down a dimly-lit alley that was so cliché, it had its own theme music.

About a month earlier, Peter had accidentally fallen over (literally, because it was Peter) an illegal cock-fighting ring. Being Peter, he had not only shut the thing down, he and his equally-as-big pain in the ass but loyal best friend Ned had managed to get all the roosters to a farm that wasn’t too far from Queens. To their credit, they’d done it on their own, no outside assistance required, though the kid couldn’t so much as look at a chicken nugget anymore.

Then, a week later, Peter had run headlong — no, that was sugarcoating things. What actually happened was that he’d face-planted through the door in the middle of a highly illegal dogfight. That one had devolved to the point he’d allowed KAREN to call Tony, who had arrived in time to see his kid get covered by a pile of snarling dogs while a smaller pile of webbed up criminals hurled abuse from the wall. Terrified, he’d been a finger-twitch away from blasting everything that wasn’t Peter with a repulsor when his son emerged, disheveled but unharmed, and stopped him. So it was that Tony got to watch, his jaw hanging open, as nine dogs went from vicious fighting machines to cuddly teddy bears, they were so ecstatic to be freed from the cruelty of their handlers.

Preventing Peter from adopting all of them had taken the better part of a week and required the combined efforts of Tony, Pepper, Rhodey, May, and, weirdly, Helen Cho. And if Tony had experienced a few minutes of envy at seeing how protective the dogs had become of Peter, well . . . yes. Yes, he had. Thankfully, no one had noticed and he refused to feel guilty for it; given all the betrayals he’d suffered, he thought it was understandable that he sometimes wished to experience loyalty that belonged solely to him.

But that wasn’t a privilege that Tony Stark would ever be granted, and it was something he didn’t think about too often.

It certainly wasn’t on his mind that Friday, when he and Peter realized that they had inadvertently stumbled on an extremely well-organized animal smuggling ring, which they had disrupted way back with the aforementioned cock-fighting. This particular bust, which Peter had quickly realized was too big for him to handle and had actually asked Tony for help on, was centered on exotic animals. Taking down the members of the ring, both the seller and the buyers, hadn’t been difficult at all, but figuring out what to do with the animals was a whole different kettle of fish (if one would pardon the pun).

The baby elephant had been a surprise, the Beluga whale moreso. A mated pair of silver wolves, four peacocks, a partridge in a fucking pear tree (because his life wasn’t surreal enough), a mated pair of lions, five French hens, three baby crocodiles/alligators/one of each (he’d never know and that was fine with him), a panda bear, a koala cub . . . Tony hadn’t seen that many international agencies in one room in his life. And they were making a cacophony that easily overshadowed the caterwauling and screaming of the unhappy, confused animals, some of whom took exception to being upstaged. Watching a haughty French animal control officer get trumpeted into silence by a ticked-off elephant would forever be one of Tony’s fondest memories, though the melee itself was giving him a headache.

And then it happened.

Peter had heard something whining, something no one else could hear over the racket, and had gone to investigate. A startled yowl of fright had jolted a watchful Tony into action and he’d barreled over there, fully expecting to see that his recently-adopted son was being mauled by a polar bear or something equally absurd.

He was half-right: it was a leopard. Because it was Tony and Peter, things had to go not just one extra mile, but two: it was a black leopard. More specifically, it was a black Amur leopard, one of the rarest animals on earth. And it was doing its best to maul its rescuer, but since it was a cub, it was less ‘mauling’ and more ‘gnawing’. Still, Peter was clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to use force to get the cat off him, so Tony sighed and resigned himself to getting covered in scratches. He didn’t dare come down in the suit or he’d likely make the baby death machine even more afraid, so he landed as quietly as possible on the upper landing and retracted the suit before approaching the duo, making a reasonable amount of noise to keep from startling the cub.

Peter’s wide eyes met his over one furry black shoulder, and Tony just shook his head. This was typical Parker Luck, which was why neither of them was actually surprised at the odd turn things had taken.

Then he reached out, slowly and carefully, and laid a steady hand on the cub’s head.

An electric shock jolted through him and man and cat both yelped. Then it jumped off Peter and spun around, pinning Tony with huge green eyes.

Time stopped.

And Tony found himself slowly kneeling on the ground, holding both hands out with his palms sideways, waiting with bated breath as the cub slowly walked toward him, never blinking or looking away. When it reached Tony, it lifted its head and nuzzled into his left hand, and time stopped again.

It felt like a starburst had just exploded in Tony’s heart and he gasped, dizzy at the indescribable sensation of some kind of mental bond forming between him and this tiny, baby leopard, who was staring at him so trustingly from beneath his shaking hand.

He had no idea how long he and the cub stayed there, gazes locked, but Peter’s voice finally broke through the haze surrounding him and Tony blinked. It took a lot of effort to force his gaze away from the baby leopard who had, apparently, taken up residence in his mind, and he slowly turned to his son, vaguely aware that he was scaring him . . . only to blink again, sluggishly, when he realized that Peter wasn’t scared or worried or even concerned.

He looked . . . ecstatic?

The absence of Standard Peter Behavior, at least when it came to Tony, was enough to jar him awake, and he cleared his throat, feeling the fogginess from . . . whatever the hell had just happened to him . . . start to dissipate. When he took a deep breath and tilted his head back so he could meet Peter’s eyes, the kid grinned like a loon and laughed delightedly, sitting back on his heels.

“This is so cool, Mister Stark!” he chirped, gesturing to the cub, who responded by snuffling loudly and pushing his head more firmly into Tony’s hand. Startled, Tony instinctively looked down and promptly melted again at the sight of those trusting, soulful eyes meeting his. Without any input from his brain, he began working his fingers through the cat’s ridiculously soft fur, stroking it the same way he loved to pet Peter’s curls.

. . . okay, that was seriously out-of-character behavior for him.

Before he could follow that thought any further, Peter spoke again and inadvertently answered all twelve urgent questions swirling in Tony’s mind.

Of course, he also raised a few dozen more, but in the grand scheme of things, Tony couldn’t be too concerned. Not at the moment, at least.

Because the next thing his son said was, “I’ve read about this, but I didn’t know that Familiar bonds still existed.”

Now, Tony Stark was many things, but most people wouldn’t think that one of them was a lover of fantasy novels and movies (Willow was fucking awesome, especially for its time). So when Peter made his Grand Announcement, time froze for the . . . what, third time today? Because Tony knew exactly what he meant and couldn’t dispute it, because he had also done the research, back in the day, and learned that Familiar bonds were real, though they were vanishingly rare. Following that logic, he had discovered that the rarity of such bonds had invariably caused them to fade first into legend and then myth (yeah, he was a Lord of the Rings fan too; what’s your point?), until they could only be found in the imagination of those people who dared dream of a world with magic.

So finding out that he was half of a pair-bond so rare, one hadn’t been confirmed in at least three hundred years?

Well. Yes.

He was stunned that it wasn’t Peter, for obvious reasons, but he made no attempt to deny it and severing it never occurred to him.

Now, having said all that: What. The. HELL?!

Fortunately for everyone concerned, Tony had a very well-developed ability to multitask, so while the major portion of his brain was preoccupied with the fact that he had literally just pair-bonded with a black leopard cub (a tiny part of his mind was doing cartwheels because Peter was right: this was so fucking cool!!!), he was still able to summon the authority of Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries. Paired with the power of Iron Man, and backed by the stuttering agreement of the seller — who was terrified, awestruck for a lot of reasons, and so jealous he was drooling — he left the warehouse with twenty-three signed NDAs, a graphic description of exactly how he would salt the earth if ANY of them opened their big fat mouths, his superhero son, and a four-month-old leopard.

In a bizarre turn of events, Peter was the calm one at the moment and he summoned Ned, because out of everyone they both knew, he was the only one who was a) in the city and b) wouldn’t accuse him of being insane for going along with this whole ‘Familiar Bond’ nonsense. Did he stutter unintelligibly at Tony? Of course. Did he have 3,473,598 questions about the Bond, all of which he had the presence of mind to direct at Peter? Absolutely. Did he drive them to a pet store off the beaten path and stock the still-unnamed cub up on toys, food, a bed, five scratching posts, and a Spiderman collar and matching shirt that were so adorable, Tony actually cooed at them? Yes, he did.

He also called MJ, who arrived in her uncle’s truck, armed with an unimpressed look, a brand-new sketchpad, and an unopened box of treats. No words were exchanged between MJ and Peter, and she restrained herself to giving Tony a single sardonic look before Ned’s enthusiasm bubbled over again and he started rambling at her while the supplies were loaded up. The pet store owner never knew that she had served The Great Tony Stark that afternoon, but she did get a rather large anonymous donation several weeks later. As they entered the Tower’s private garage, Ned’s excitement finally began to taper off and they parked in relative quiet.

The whole time, the cub had been settled against Tony’s side, head in his lap and purring in utter contentment at the petting and head-scratches he was getting from both Peter and Tony, who hadn’t spoken since they left the warehouse. When they finally got out of the car, Tony’s thigh had gone to pins and needles, but he didn’t hesitate to gather his leopard in his arms and carry him to the elevator. The events of the day had finally caught up with him, though, and he knew he was abnormally tense and quiet.

Peter sensed it as well and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before circling back to Ned and starting to organize getting their new resident’s stuff upstairs. Once that was done, MJ showed her practical side and coordinated with JARVIS to make the necessary renovations for an indoor enclosure truly suited to a jungle cat. FRIDAY took her own initiative and started searching for property that was far enough from the city that the cub could run and exercise outside in privacy, but close enough that Tony could still function as SI’s CTO as well as Iron Man.

Tony knew none of this; the second he got to his bedroom, his intentions to shower, eat, and bribe Ned and MJ for their silence shattered like spun sugar when he made the rookie mistake of sitting down on the bed. The next thing he knew, it was close to 1 o’clock the next afternoon and he was curled on his side, his leopard cub tucked against his torso.

The rest of that day, and then the week, passed in something of a blur. Peter, Ned, and MJ had done an excellent job at converting the empty common room one floor down to a gym suitable for a leopard cub; between them and FRIDAY, they’d turned it into an indoor jungle, complete with sounds and a waterfall cascading down one wall (something Tony had often considered but always decided against for reasons he couldn’t articulate. Trust his new bondmate to force the issue. Then again, he was a cat). To his surprise, Tony found that organizing and reorganizing and arranging and just generally futzing with the cub’s various toys and scratching posts and cat beds was extremely soothing, particularly when it was accompanied by the contented purrs of his sleepy bondmate.

He did, however, draw the line at litter boxes. Instead, he and MJ schemed and planned out the world’s first indoor bathroom designed solely for a feline, complete with self-flushing toilet, sunken Jacuzzi tub, and a motion-activated wall-unit hair dryer (which Dyson would have killed to see).

After everything that could be done that first day was taken care of, Peter showed his usual people-reading skills (when it came to people other than him, that is), and managed to hover over his father just the perfect amount, knowing that Tony not only needed to adapt to the whole concept of having a Familiar Bond, but also settle into the bond itself, not to mention learning how to live and grow with a leopard, a rather daunting prospect for a man who had never had a goldfish for a pet. All the research indicated that near-total isolation was the best way to allow a new bond to solidify, but Peter knew that Tony did not do well with that much time alone, lab binges aside, and he quickly found an ideal balance.

Fortunately, the cub quickly figured out that Peter was his new bondmate’s cub as well and accepted his presence with little trouble, and the three of them had an unexpectedly relaxing, highly enjoyable week, punctuated with a few visits from Ned and MJ (to no one’s surprise, she ignored everyone but the leopard, who she fawned over as much as MJ could fawn).

Other than settling on a name, that is.

It took five days, twelve baby name books, several consultations with Ned, who had a large family, four languages, the combined efforts of FRIDAY and JARVIS in eliminating a truly epic number of possibilities, and an old movie, spoken in Italian (it was Tony’s night to choose) for the cub to choose his name by yowling excitedly the first time he heard it (and the second, third, and eighth). And so it was that Tony Stark and Fiero solidified their bond.

It should be mentioned that Tony Stark had never been so befuddled in his entire life, and that was including becoming Iron Man and adopting Peter.

But suddenly, and also for the first time in his entire life, there was a creature who was completely devoted to him, one who loved him beyond all reason and would do anything to protect him or just make him laugh. And there was so much laughter, it was unreal. Tony hadn’t laughed so much or so often in his entire life. Fiero was a cub, a baby, who experienced all the clumsiness and foibles of a baby. He tripped over his own feet more than Peter did and, when he wasn’t sprawled all over Tony, contorted himself into pretzels that Olympic gymnasts would be jealous of to sleep.

Watching Fiero and Peter negotiate cuddle times and positions was hilarious, and watching them bond over TV shows and movies was . . . well, frankly, it was terrifying. All three of them agreed that Star Trek: The Original Series was the best, but there was a three-way tie on the original Star Wars trilogy, Fiero hated Peter’s current obsession Brooklyn 99, and cat and kid had a deeply shared disdain for Tony’s love of the original Battlestar Galactica. Mythbusters, however, was a mutual favorite.

Most important of all, though, was the fact that Tony took a vacation for the first time since Afghanistan. He finished the small stack of paperwork that had a deadline, but that was it. He didn’t feel the need to be in his lab, tinkering, to keep his mind distracted, and, while he missed Pepper badly, Fiero’s presence eased it a lot. So not did Tony relax, he also actually rested, and his new bondmate also allowed him and Peter to get some much-needed father/son bonding time as well, but the cub’s existence kept them from spending too much time together, while simultaneously managing to keep Peter from spending every possible second out as Spiderman.

It was, quite possibly, the best week any of them had experienced. Tony was happy in a way he couldn’t remember, and Peter had finally settled into his place as Tony’s son and heir . . . and pseudo-brother to a baby jungle cat. Which, as Tony pointed out wryly, still wasn’t the strangest thing that had ever happened to the boy.

Then Pepper and Happy returned from her business trip to Spain.

And they all found out very quickly just what, exactly, it meant to have a Familiar Bond with a natural-born predator who was possessed of full-blown protective instincts and the control of a ten-year-old child.

Tony hadn’t told Pepper, Rhodes, or Happy what had happened; it wasn’t exactly something that could be explained by email and, frankly, he had no desire to be lectured and/or screamed at over the phone, because that tended to be their default response to anything he did that they didn’t like, agree with, or understand. And it wouldn’t be any easier to explain via phone call, either. Hell, Tony was currently living the experience and still couldn’t describe it all that eloquently.

So he decided to keep things quiet until they were home, so they could see it for themselves.

At first, things were great. Peter had taken Fiero down to his playroom so Tony and Pepper could have badly-needed privacy for their reunion. However, it only took four hours to discover the truth to the warning repeated in every source on Familiar Bonds: the newer the bond, the more uncomfortable separation was. Well, having experienced such a separation, Tony had sworn that if he ever found the moron who described the sensation as ‘uncomfortable’, he was going to lock him in a sealed room with Steve Rogers and leave his ass there.

It turned out that being separated from Fiero for that long, even if he was just a floor away, escalated the sensation from a quiet hum in Tony’s mind to a screaming siren and a rapidly growing need to see him and make sure he was okay. The jumble of emotions he was getting across the bond told him Fiero wasn’t coping any better and he was waiting at the elevator, getting bowled over by an unhappy leopard cub who was chattering loudly in distress and flooding Tony’s thoughts with a kind of panic he’d rather not experience again. Peter followed Fiero, looking more than a little traumatized, and gave his father a rueful look. Neither of them had expected it to be this bad, but they’d gotten pretty good at rolling with the punches over the last week, and Tony soothed his bondmate and his son together with little true panic.

In the process, though, he’d forgotten that Pepper was there.

So when she gasped in shock, it startled him badly enough that he fell back on his ass and ended up with a lapful of leopard cub.

Silence reigned for several minutes as cat and woman stared at each other, but then Pepper made the fatal mistake of treating Tony the same way she always treated him when he did something she didn’t like, approve of, or understand.

She started to lecture him in that tone of voice that never failed to get his hackles up, because he wasn’t a fucking child. And while he could be impulsive, yes, he wasn’t this impulsive, and he sure as hell wasn’t this stupid. Building a particle accelerator in his lab was one thing; adopting not just an animal, but a wild jungle animal, was something else entirely. But Pepper and Happy and even Rhodes never stopped to consider that ‘impulsive’ did not automatically equate to ‘stupid’, and it was something that profoundly irritated Tony, though he’d never said anything. He was well-aware of his own arrogance and knew that sometimes, putting up with him was a lot to ask.

But his silence had allowed them to assume their behavior was okay, and it had naturally escalated, meaning that while Tony was annoyed at being lectured like a child by his fiancée, he was also resigned to it. And to be fair to Pepper, it was a very strange situation. It was understandable that her reaction wasn’t going to be the best, and her control freak tendencies, paired with her ‘manage Tony’ attitude, resulted in a blistering tirade, one delivered in an increasingly shrill voice, and one that he wasn’t remotely surprised to receive.

Fiero, however, did not share his bondmate’s opinion. Or his restraint.

And the next thing everybody knew, he was standing in front of Tony in a protective stance, teeth bared, hackles raised, one paw lifted toward Pepper in a clear threat, and an aggressive growl filling the room. Tony and Peter were so shocked, they couldn’t do anything but gape, while Pepper’s voice cut off mid-word and she stumbled back several steps, startled and frightened. Fiero held his pose for another few minutes until it became obvious she wasn’t going to resume her lecture, and then he mostly calmed down and returned to Tony’s side. That burning green gaze never left Pepper, however, and it was clear that he was fully prepared to attack should she continue to speak to Tony in a way that he — they — didn’t like.

That was more than shocking enough to send Pepper into a wordless stupor, one Tony took advantage of by standing up, gathering Fiero in his arms, and soothing him along their bond as he walked to Peter’s room, his son obediently following, so he could explain things to Pepper. Neither of his cubs (ha!) wanted to leave him, but Pepper needed some time to wrap her mind around the fact that her fiancé had not just acquired a black leopard cub, but also been gifted with a Familiar Bond. And while Fiero was a baby, he was strikingly intelligent and had gotten very good at reading both Tony’s emotions and intentions over their bond. So while he made his displeasure with the situation clear, he also accepted the necessity of Tony needing to handle this directly and without the distraction Fiero would cause.

But just before Tony stepped into Peter’s room, the cub turned his head, slowly and deliberately, and gave Pepper a narrow-eyed look that promised retribution if she crossed that line again. And maybe Tony should have felt guilty when both affront and low-level fear washed over her face, but he was reaching his saturation point for being treated like a moronic man-child, and having someone who was utterly loyal to him was a gift that he didn’t think he’d ever tire of, or take for granted. He didn’t intend to provoke Pepper, but he’d finally realized that he had had enough and Fiero had also made it clear that he would be aware of what was happening. So if she didn’t show Tony the respect he was due, well . . . there would be trouble.

Not being remotely stupid, Pepper simply nodded. Her shock hadn’t faded much, but like Tony, she was good at rolling with the punches, and being threatened by a leopard cub wasn’t the most dangerous thing she’d faced. Or even the strangest, come to think of it.

Wow. That really said a lot about their lives.

Once Peter had closed his door and Tony and Pepper were in relative privacy, they just stared at each other for several minutes. When it became obvious that Pepper wasn’t going to speak first this time, Tony huffed out a soft laugh and gestured her to the couch, dropping down in his usual elegant sprawl and watching appreciatively as she did the same, searching her gaze intently to see just how seriously she was taking this now that she’d had a chance to absorb things.

When she still didn’t speak after two minutes of scrutiny, he nodded and began. His explanation was actually fairly concise and straightforward, helped along by interjections and clarifications from JARVIS and the research both Tony and Peter had done, and backed up by FRIDAY displaying the two ‘country’ properties he was torn between — and also waiting for Pepper’s input, as she would be there with him at least some of the time.

When he was done, his throat was dry and he got up to grab a drink and some blueberries, pouring her a glass of that sparkling water crap she liked, and took a few minutes to himself before heading back to the living room. He really had no idea how she’d ultimately react, as this situation was unprecedented, even for them, and he wasn’t unaware of just how complicated life with a bonded leopard was going to be.

Having said that, he was really looking forward to the first board meeting with Fiero in attendance. That was going to be EPIC and he took out his phone and sent a notice to JARVIS so he’d record that particular event.

Hey, everybody needed something to make them laugh, okay?

“Thank you,” she murmured when he handed her the glass and sank back into his seat, waiting patiently, albeit trepidatiously, for her to finish gathering her thoughts. Being Pepper, she didn’t keep him waiting long.

Also being Pepper, she threw him for a bit of a loop.

“Well, this is going to be entertaining to watch,” was her opening statement, and she smiled when he blinked several times in response. “Do I at least get to keep my side of the bed?”

. . . well.

Okay, then.

God, he loved this woman.

“Yeah,” he managed to reply. “He’ll stay in our room most nights, we figure, but he’ll be too big for the bed in a couple of months. Umm . . . I . . .”

He trailed off helplessly, not sure what he was trying to say, and she leaned over and cuddled against him — much the way Fiero did, actually, which made him laugh. Once he explained, she giggled as well and then licked his chin before nipping his ear, and suddenly, he was the one in heat. Before he could haul her off to his cave, though, she threw him for another loop, and this one knocked him off the couch in sheer surprise.

“Wait, Tony, I . . . I should have said this first,” she said quietly, pulling back to meet his eyes. “I can’t believe it took a freaking leopard to make me see it, but . . . well, it did. And I did.”

Okay, what? He was so confused.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” she told him, her eyes blazing with sincerity. “I shouldn’t have started yelling at you the way I did and given his reaction, never mind yours, I . . . it’s something I do a lot, isn’t it? Treat you like a misbehaving child instead of asking you first, or even stopping to think.”

Oh.

Um, okay. What — what was he supposed to do now?

Seeing the confusion on his face — and the panic — made Pepper sigh heavily and shift back a little so they could look directly at each other.

“And that right there is biggest reason I’m sorry,” she said plainly, her voice full of self-recrimination now, and he blinked, but didn’t have a chance to respond. “We’ve both gotten so used to it that even when you know you don’t deserve it, you still don’t say anything, because there’s no point. When I get in ‘self-righteous’ mode, I’m a bitch.”

This candid statement sent Tony flailing to the floor, where he landed embarrassingly on his face, eliciting a round of giggles even as she helped him up. But the humor quickly faded when he sat back down on the couch and just stared wordlessly at her for . . . heaven knew how long. She allowed it, her eyes full of understanding and regret, and finally sighed before pulling him to her in a tight hug.

“I’ll work on being a better person, babe, I promise,” she whispered in his ear. “But I need you to speak up, to say something, when I slip. Even if — when — I yell at you for doing it. You’re a strong, capable, mostly-responsible adult and I shouldn’t need to be reminded of that. Just be patient, okay? For all of us, because Happy and Jim are going to have the same reaction and they need the same wakeup call I got. But once it happens, I’ll be there with my stack of paperwork and a bullwhip, ready to beat them into shape. And to have your back, because you deserve to be respected and listened to, Tony, especially in your own home. And quite frankly, Peter needs to see it and start demanding it for himself, too. So I will work on listening instead of jumping to conclusions, and you and Peter will work on asserting yourselves. Fair?”

Dumbfounded, all he could do was nod, which earned him another soft set of giggles, a kiss of promise that instantly turned passionate, and a quickie on the sofa, which put him in a good mood for the rest of the week. Once they’d each taken quick, separate, showers, Pepper gave him a tender look and went to Peter’s door, knocking softy before cracking it open.

Two dark heads hesitantly poked through the small gap, and two pairs of horrified, traumatized, affronted eyes scanned the room before going back to Pepper and Tony, who both blushed tomato red on realizing that their son and their cub had heard them, but chagrin was swiftly replaced with laughter when Pepper, already trying desperately not to giggle, pointed out the fact that teenager and leopard were doing a perfect imitation of twins: they were both the same height, with Peter kneeling and Fiero rearing up on his hind legs, one paw on Peter’s knee for balance, and their heads were canted the same direction and angle as they gave Tony matching betrayed looks, and they just looked so adorable that Pepper melted in an actual puddle, leaving only her earrings behind.

The next thing Tony knew, he was sitting in his recliner, watching incredulously as his son and his bondmate both cuddled with his fiancée, who was crooning to them and petting them and feeding them treats while ignoring the man who had given her both boys.

It was absolutely nauseating.

It was also the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and his heart almost exploded at the realization that three of the most important people in his life loved each other.

Then Happy came in with Pepper’s luggage and BAM!

Repeat of the afternoon.

Well. Mostly.

After another apology about his habit of disrespecting Tony, this one gruff and full of grunts and coughs instead of actual words, hugs were distributed all around and Fiero and Happy quickly came to an understanding that everyone but Tony was satisfied with. It wasn’t like Fiero wasn’t going to act as a bodyguard for him, a lie that only Tony believed, so why was an official plan necessary?

Happy just gave him an annoyed look and didn’t answer, while Peter and Fiero curled into Tony after he collapsed on the couch to bemoan such betrayal and Pepper ordered food that Happy declined. Just before he left, though, she told him not to tell Rhodes about this new development. A somewhat awkward silence fell, but it only lasted a few seconds before Happy huffed and said, “Yeah, okay. That’s fair. And probably the best way to do it.”

And with that, the family of four spent the evening catching up and getting to know each other.

James Rhodes’ reaction to seeing and meeting Fiero a few weeks later was every bit as dramatic as it had been for Pepper and Happy, and just as educational. He had known Tony a lot longer, though, not to mention having a harder head, meaning Fiero actually had to grab his arm to get him to stop lecturing . . . and even then, it took seeing Tony’s complete failure to intervene that finally made him stop and think.

Many tears, all of them manly, were shed once Tony finished explaining who and what Fiero was, and Rhodes had the awareness to apologize just as sincerely to Fiero as he did to Tony, something the latter deeply appreciated.

But it wasn’t all sunshine and roses, and nowhere near that easy. It took a long, long time for things to even out, to equalize, and all three of them were forced to learn some hard, ugly lessons. There was a lot of screaming, tears, and accusations, some seriously depressing therapy sessions, and more personal growth than any one person typically experienced in the whole of their life. But Tony finally understood that he was allowed to be happy for himself, and that no one else took precedence over him. There was room for everyone to be happy at the same time, and anyone who tried to make him believe otherwise wasn’t a person he needed or wanted to be around. He also came to realize that he deserved basic human respect, if nothing else, and there was a vast difference between being humble and allowing the disrespect because it was expected or just easier to deal with.

Rhodes and Pepper learned how arrogant they’d become, and how condescending. When Rhodes inadvertently made a direct comparison between Pepper and Steve Rogers, she went catatonic for close to thirty minutes while her mind processed that, trying to refute the accusation with mental gymnastics, frantic justifications, and flat-out denial.

She failed.

Her sobbing apology to Tony was full of self-loathing and self-recrimination, which made him cringe, though he had finally healed enough to know he deserved her apology, so he was able to accept for what it was. He hated seeing Pepper in pain, especially because of him, but by then, he intellectually understood that her feelings weren’t his fault, and more importantly, in this case they weren’t his responsibility. Her initial poor treatment of him had been borne of frustration with his less-than-stellar behavior, but she finally realized that instead of treating the CEO of Stark Industries, her direct supervisor, like a child, she should have taken a deep breath, removed herself from the situation for a few minutes if necessary, then talked calmly and rationally with him and find out what was going on.

For Tony’s part, he readily admitted that his behavior was frequently childish, especially when she’d first started working for him, but he was also forced to admit that her immediate go-to of ‘managing man-child Stark’ only encouraged him to continue his poor conduct, often deliberately exaggerated just to see what people would do. And thus, the cycle was created; after all, if you’re going to get in trouble either way, you might as well earn it. And once Pepper had ‘irresponsible man-child’ in her mind, that was all she wrote. It permeated everything. Once Tony got used to that attitude from her, he played down to it because it was expected, so there was no point in doing otherwise.

His situation with Rhodes was much the same, only with the added contempt bred from both familiarity and a sibling-like relationship. Rhodes had been forced to acknowledge his shitty treatment of Tony on the plane heading to Afghanistan, his snide, hateful attitude when Tony had been trying to explain his reasoning for closing down SI’s weapons manufacturing, his callous disregard of Tony’s increasing bizarre and unstable behavior as a result of The Palladium Incident, his betrayal of Tony’s trust and friendship and business by taking War Machine to his most loathed, not to mention incompetent, competitor . . . and the heart-rending knowledge that Tony knew he should have spoken up, had wanted to, but ultimately stayed silent because he couldn’t trust that Rhodes or Pepper would actually listen to him instead of accusing him of faking it for the attention or to get out of doing something.

That was why first Romanova had such an easy time manipulating him, and then Rogers. Since his closest friends so often treated him like dirt, it must be okay for everyone else.

To their shame, neither friend nor fiancée could dispute this. Not after looking back and walking through those times with Tony.

His journey wasn’t any better, or easier. He was forced to see and understand why he acted out so much and so badly, and why he so often allowed himself to be his own worst enemy, especially when he knew better. He had to answer to himself about why he’d let things deteriorate to the point that he simply expected the people who knew him best and should have treated him with the respect they demanded for themselves to disdain him and betray him and infantilize him. More importantly, he was forced to understand why he let it continue even when it finally began to bother him.

Especially when he’d met Peter and been given instant, genuine, honest respect for his abilities and his gifts and his inventions.

But most importantly, Peter respected Tony because he was a person, the same way he respected everyone until they gave him a reason not to.

Being the recipient of such open, honest esteem, something that didn’t wane or became tainted even after several months of acquaintance and a truly epic fuck-up on both Tony and Peter’s parts, opened Tony’s eyes to just how much Rhodes and Pepper’s treatment of him rankled, and it started to get harder and harder to ignore. But he had no idea how to express his feelings, especially knowing that any attempt would immediately be met with derision and accusations of childishness. And so there was a stalemate, one coupled with ever-deepening pressure, which caused deep cracks to form in the foundation.

Then Fiero came on the scene and Familiar Bonded with Tony.

Tony, Rhodes, and Pepper all openly admitted that Fiero had probably saved their various relationships, which the leopard preened at and took full credit for — and it was amazing just how expressive an animal who didn’t possess the ability to speak human words could be. It was also the first time any of them had seen an animal gloat.

Tony was so proud, he could burst. Pepper and Rhodes feared for their sanity. Peter thought the whole thing was hilarious. The therapist booked a month-long vacation in Fiji.

But it was hard, long, road, to borrow a cliché. It got ugly. It got intense. It became unbearable. There were more than a few times where there was genuine worry that a relationship was going to break and couldn’t be salvaged. However, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, and James Rhodes were three of the most stubborn people on the planet, with absurdly strong wills and a flat refusal to give up that had been demonstrated on many, many occasions. It took a year, but they came through the fire . . . singed and covered with ashes and burns, but unbroken. Powerful. Strong. Sure of themselves and each other.

Of course, Pepper and Tony still had to run Stark Industries during this . . . rebuilding . . . and Tony and Rhodes had to work on the Accords and finally getting Thaddeus Ross arrested and put in prison, along with the Rogues if at all possible. Oddly enough, that actually helped, because it let them vent their frustrations in a productive manner instead of taking them out on each other. Two months after the Familiar Bond was solidified and three weeks after their first therapy session, Tony attended a board meeting that he really didn’t want to be at. However, contrary to popular belief, Tony was well-aware of his duties and responsibilities to SI and didn’t skip out nearly as often as people wanted to believe. It happened, to be sure, but it was rare for him to fail to attend a serious, important meeting.

That did not mean he liked them, enjoyed them, or saw the point in having so damn many of them. But his feelings were . . . magnified . . . thanks to his new Familiar Bond and he was able to admit that he hated the treatment he received in those meetings, but he wasn’t anywhere near sure enough of himself or his feelings to risk rocking the boat yet.

Fiero did not have that problem.

It was Epic. Fiero not only stunned the room due his mere presence, but he also helped them all figure out who was being disrespectful simply because that was their natural personality and who was a genuine detriment to Tony, Pepper, and/or SI as an entity. After they checked the records, it was determined that that meeting was the shortest one record, going back to the founding of the company. When the next one came around, a much more emotionally-healthy Tony decided to act on a hunch — with Pepper’s knowledge and blessing — and he skipped it.

Well, he skipped it physically. He watched on video from his office, a dangerous smile coming to his lips when Fiero accompanied Pepper, who was uncharacteristically late by fifteen minutes, into the room. At the sight, everyone present turned pale. When the half-grown leopard settled himself comfortably on a chair brought specifically for him, they all swallowed. Hard.

When he fixed his intense green gaze on one of the few holdovers from Obadiah Stane’s regime and licked his lips, she was one of three board members who resigned on the spot. A genuinely shocked Pepper managed to maintain her composure long enough to bargain them into selling their shares of SI stock to Tony, which they also all did on the spot, before conducting the second shortest board meeting on record.

When Tony sauntered in to the one after that, Pepper on his arm and his leopard at his side, another three bolted after selling their shares to the couple. That meeting was the fifth shortest.

Progress was being made, and on all sides.

After that?

They didn’t lose any other board members, but they did lose several shareholders, gaining those shares in the process, and high-level corporate meetings suddenly became much more productive and much more enjoyable.

The fact that a bonded leopard was the reason a room full of grown adults finally started acting like it was carefully hidden from the public, but nothing on earth could stop company gossip, and the employees found it hilarious. Amazingly, considering human nature, there was very little outside gossip, at least until Tony’s first public appearance with Fiero. And even then, the employees kept SI business confined to SI, though most of them readily admitted they were afraid of Fiero’s retribution on Tony’s behalf, should they gossip and cause him any harm or grief. The laws regarding Familiar Bonds were very broad and nobody wanted to test their limits over something as stupid as ‘these grown-ass adults acted so badly that the leopard ran them out of the company’.

So publically, things were going well, no problems, everything was coming up roses. Privately, however, recordings of those first few meetings got a lot of re-watches, and seeing the stiff formality everyone but Tony and Pepper suffered from after Fiero’s introduction and Tony and Pepper’s journey to strong mental and emotional health was pure comedy gold.

On the superhero side of things, it wasn’t quite as easy.

Tony and Fiero quickly realized that the fast-growing cub couldn’t accompany him on most of his Iron Man excursions, though Tony naturally made him a suit. But everywhere else was fair game, and people the world over discovered two things. One: a completed, settled Familiar Bond resulted in the pair sharing the dominant traits that the other didn’t possess. If the trait was mutual, it was heightened exponentially. And two: Tony Stark by himself was much more than merely dangerous. Tony Stark and Fiero? Between Tony’s shared genius, Fiero’s shared predatory drive, and their combined enhanced protective instincts, trying for either of them was suicide, and not the clean kind.

The one person who managed to injure Fiero . . . there literally wasn’t enough of her left to scrape into a gallon sandwich bag, and Tony didn’t get a single complaint from anyone. Well, other than the idiot’s family, but they got shot down immediately, beginning with law enforcement, doing a whirlwind tour of the population at large, and ending with Tony’s lawyers. The entire world, minus the genuinely stupid villains, decreed that Tony had not acted outside the law, not even a millimeter. The woman had hurt a bonded Familiar in a premeditated attempt to kill, and Tony was completely, totally within his rights to respond with lethal force.

Coincidentally, the number of attempts on his life dropped both drastically and rapidly.

Not too long after that welcome change, people quit trying to get to Pepper.

And God help anyone who went after Peter.

For two years, things for the Stark family were good. Great. Amazing, even. Tony and Pepper got married, with Rhodes officiating, Peter serving as the flower girl, and Fiero doing a spectacular job as ring bearer (and yes, that started a nationwide trend of using cats as wedding party members. It lasted for exactly two weddings). Pepper also officially and legally adopted Peter; Rhodes was promoted again; Thaddeus Ross was executed for treason and so many crimes against humanity, the judge didn’t even try to list them all; the Accords were re-worked, amended, and ratified with the full support of multiple enhanced, mutant, and mutate communities; and Pepper and Tony and Peter began talking seriously about the possibility of having another child, either through pregnancy or adoption.

Then SHIELD had to resurrect itself from the ashes of its own corruption and destroy the peace that Tony had worked and bled and suffered to build.

It only took six words: the Rogue Avengers will be pardoned.

The resultant meeting of SHIELD, the Accords Council, and the UN Assembly was calm, controlled, and totally civil.

It was also the most frightening thing any of the attendees had ever experienced. Tony took complete control of the meeting immediately and his rage, fed with the ice of Siberia, the bitterness of betrayal, and the hatred of knowing he had no real choice, turned the UN Assembly Hall positively frigid. His contempt of the weak-willed morons who cared more for their own power than justice or even what was best for their own people sent more than a lot of the assembly slinking to their offices, choking on shame but unable or unwilling to step up and change their minds. The people who genuinely thought that issuing a US pardon and conditionally staying the international charges was the best option were viciously blown back to their territory, hair and clothes disheveled from the hurricane-force winds that was Tony Stark’s righteous fury. And the people who agreed with him or didn’t care either way weren’t enough to overturn the result.

So the Rogues were returning to the US.

But Tony refused to allow them — any of them — to entangle him in this clusterfuck. Pepper had restraining orders taken out against all six of them by the end of the second day, along with official, legal documentation barring them not just from any and all Stark Industries property, but also any property owned by Tony or herself.

The sole exception was the Compound, and even then, the Accords panel found themselves in a self-made, unpleasant situation. They assumed that Tony would revert to form and take over all the tedious, unpleasant, and expensive tasks of housing, feeding, clothing, and arming the people who had betrayed and abandoned everything and everyone they proclaimed to care about — with one glaring exception — while they, the Accords Panel, would be the Masters of the Missions and get to handle all the fun jobs with few of the repercussions.

Yeah, no.

Tony refused to allow the Rogues free rein in his building, and he also refused to ‘donate’ it for the cause, or sell it for anything less than the full appraised value. Since the US government didn’t have $180 million dollars just lying around, they were forced to choke down their pride and discuss the options to rent rooms, training room space, and training times.

All of which would be provided at fair market values, determined by the most recent appraisal for the compound and Tony’s current consultant rate.

Suffice to say, nobody was happy with this arrangement, but every time someone tried to complain, Tony informed them that they were more than welcome to find another facility or build it themselves, and no, he would not consult or have anything to do with it. If they refused his extremely generous offer, they were on their own. When they learned they’d also have to pay for any food consumed outside their meal plans, as well as for Wi-Fi and cable, the Accords Council finally decided that a serious effort at finding another suitable location would be undertaken.

The agents who found the only other place in the US had to take three days off work when they returned, they were so traumatized. When the Accords Council saw the facility, terms, conditions, and prices for the location in the Utah desert, they had to take an immediate recess. Every single complaint people were making regarding Tony’s ‘unreasonableness’ about the Compound mysteriously stopped and the contracts were quickly signed, notarized, and filed.

Toward the end of this excruciating process, in the middle of the sniveling about ‘why barracks instead of individual rooms?’, Tony casually mentioned that he was officially registering his Familiar Bond with Fiero. It was a required formality, letting the Panel know that he had chosen the option to utilize the abilities and benefits of the bond within the scope of Accords missions, but there was so much else going on that no one paid attention. A clerk noted his file and that was that.

It was a good thing no one but Happy saw the vindictive smirk curling his boss’ lips as they left the building, and it was equally good that nobody heard Happy cackling in unholy glee after Tony’s succinct explanation.

So when the Rogues finally saw Tony for the first time in nearly three years, they all got a massive shock.

Romanova was the first true casualty. Say what you will about her moral center (ha!), ethics (HA!), ego (HA!!), and trustworthiness (HAHAHA!!!), she was a physically beautiful woman. She was therefore used to getting the attention of any and all males in her vicinity, especially when she wore her SHIELD-issued catsuit, which left exactly nothing to the imagination. Because she was a woman ‘kicking ass in a man’s world’, she also tended to get a lot of admiration from women for ‘breaking the glass ceiling’. Romanova didn’t like notoriety for its own sake, but she did enjoy the attention and the power that came with it, and she eventually came to expect it.

And despite her sneering putdowns of Tony and her snide remarks about his childish need to be in the limelight on those occasions he chose to publically bask in the admiration of the people around him — usually kids, though she ignored that to focus on the adults accompanying them, thus making her putdown of his ego acceptable — it was Romanova who couldn’t handle not being the primary focus of attention when she wanted it.

She truly couldn’t grasp that there were people who couldn’t care less about her pretty face or the boobs shoved up to her chin or the highly impractical stiletto heels she wore to show off both her legs and her balance. There were also people who found other women to admire, which she couldn’t quite understand. And her bloated ego, combined with her strong sociopathic tendencies, meant that she had no clue how to handle it when she was ignored or even just deemed less important than someone else.

Fiero was unaware of this when he accompanied Tony to the first strategy meeting regarding a training mission. The Accords Council was still clinging to the hope that Tony would wake up one morning and cave to their demands to rejoin and fund the Avengers instead of working as a solo act while he quietly recruited and helped build other teams. In their efforts to convince him, they had decided that a series of fake missions, using different people in different combinations, would smooth over any . . . lingering issues . . . and convince Tony of the power of friendship or teamwork or whatever bullshit excuse they thought would work.

Rhodes and Pepper were both furious about it. Peter was worried, Happy was unhappy, and Tony was just pissed. He was also resigned. Bureaucracy was the same the world over and obviously, if the Council admitted they were wrong, they’d all drop dead right that instant. That wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, mind, but Tony was a realist and knew they were all going to be stuck in this dumbass cycle for a while.

The exercise that turned Romanova into Fiero’s direct enemy involved her, Tony, and Lang. Their Accords liaisons were also present, as were three clerks sent from the Accords Council to observe and take notes. The non-hero group was an even mix of male and female, and Romanova smirked when Tony, the last one to arrive, finally sauntered in the room, his leopard at his side. She’d been holding court for about fifteen minutes, enjoying the admiration of the women and feeling both superior and contemptuous toward the men, who were all paying more attention to her cleavage than to her.

In short, she had positioned herself to take charge of the meeting and planning instead of Tony, even though he was the designated Team Lead, and her scheme was working beautifully.

Until he walked in and stopped dead, blinking in surprise when everyone’s eyes slammed into h—oh.

Not him.

The entire room was completely focused on his bondmate. The women were actually cooing at him, exclaiming about how beautiful and magnificent he was and could they pet him? Not sensing any danger — and being a cat — Fiero stropped Tony’s thigh and paced forward, allowing himself to be stroked and scratched and fawned over. The men collectively gave Tony looks of pure envy, mingled with awe, and inched their way to the pile of women and cat, offering their own praise and admiration, while Tony stood in the door for a few minutes and simply watched in utter bemusement, mingled with pride, as he was completely ignored in favor of his Familiar.

He gave a soft chuff of amusement when he felt Fiero’s smug satisfaction sweep across their bond and finally stepped forward, sinking into the chair next to his leopard and patiently answering the usual questions regarding the Familiar Bond. After a minute or two, though, he cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention and started the meeting. He didn’t realize until the end, when he asked for questions and got nothing from Lang or Romanova, that the famed Black Widow was fuming, and if looks could kill, her glare would have put him 36 feet under. She was visibly galled at being upstaged by Tony, not to mention his damned cat, but she didn’t know how to salvage the situation without sounding petty and spiteful.

Not that she had a problem with either of those things, of course, but she was shrewd enough to know that doing so now would only hurt her, not Tony.

She had no idea that Fiero, who was highly intelligent before adding Tony’s genius to it, had noticed her reactions and understood their meaning. It also didn’t occur to her that he was a predator who didn’t have to kill in order to destroy his prey. Romanov had hurt and betrayed Tony, and felt no remorse about either of those things. Fiero, who was so much more than just a leopard, saw that, recognized it, and used it to plan his vengeance.

For Tony’s part, since there were no questions or problems, he offered one last round of petting and admiring before he had to leave. His casual reminder to Romanova and Lang about being ready in three hours, given without so much as turning his head, infuriated her and she sucked in a sharp breath, mentally plotting how she was going to get him back for humiliating her, when her Accords liaison turned to grab his stuff, saw her, and said, “Oh, I didn’t know you were still here. We’ll see you in a few hours!”

And then he just . . . left. No appreciative glance at her face, no admiring perusal of her body. He, a man, had forgotten she was there!

Romanova. Was. Furious.

And then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Every time she was in the same place as Tony Stark and Fiero, she ceased to exist. She would be mid-word and the second that damned cat strolled through the door, she was muted and invisible. She could have walked in naked and no one would have noticed (in actual fact, no one did notice; she was so frustrated she could have chewed up a throwing knife and spit out thumbtacks, so she decided to test her theory in a meeting that was male-only and strolled in 10 minutes late, wearing nothing but high heels and a translucent red negligee. A burlap sack would have been cheaper and a hell of a lot more comfortable, and elicited the exact same reaction).

The worst part about the whole thing? It wasn’t anything Stark was doing; people were simply fascinated by being in such close proximity to a tame wild animal. Fiero being a rare black leopard just made him that much more exotic and enticing, a point she grudgingly conceded even as she seethed with resentment and wounded pride and the inability to so much as shove the overgrown house cat out of her way, never mind eliminating him — and thus, the problem — entirely.

Still, she didn’t believe the rumors that Familiar Bonds never occurred between unequal partners, so she also failed to believe that Fiero was highly intelligent and capable of independent thought and action that were completely separate from Tony. She also honestly thought that people’s insulting tunnel vision when it came to the leopard was simply a matter of human nature, the tendency to ignore another human in favor of the exotic and the mysterious.

Until the day she was literally grinding her teeth as she watched six full-grown adults rolling around the floor with a giant black cat, utterly ignoring not just her, but also any sense of decency.

And Fiero, his whole body vibrating with the force of his purrs, raised his head, met her eyes . . . and licked his lips before deliberately turning his back to her and strolling back to Tony, pausing here and there to strop a person he liked and drawing the whole group with him.

Natasha Romanova sat there, stunned, as she realized that Tony Stark’s fucking cat was playing her for a fool.

And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

~~~

Shortly after Romanova’s torment began, Fiero had his first run-in with Sam Wilson. It didn’t take long to realize that Tony was ambivalent about the man, who was nothing more than a Window Dressing with Wings, according to Harley (Rhodes almost choked to death on his coffee when he heard that and gleefully shared it with his peers; it took less than two days for Wilson’s call sign to change to Window Dressing, to his extreme displeasure). He was the type of person who glommed on to a dominant personality and became an extension of that person, claiming their thoughts and decisions for himself. Had he met Tony first, that’s where his loyalty would have gone. Had Steve Rogers been a better person, so would Wilson. Or rather, Wilson would have behaved better; he was at heart nothing more than a sycophant and perfectly happy with that.

Since Tony didn’t have any real animosity toward Wilson, Fiero didn’t either. But he didn’t like the man and the third time he sneered at Tony during their strategy meeting, the leopard finally had enough. He oozed his way over to Wilson, basking in the petting and admiration he inevitably got when he passed within two feet of a person, and stopped a few steps away from the man’s chair before curling up into a compact ball of fur. Not surprisingly, Wilson, who was looking away, didn’t see him and promptly tripped when he stood up, which had been the reason Fiero had moved to begin with.

Because the other thing he’d come to realize about Sam Wilson was that, like the rest of the Rogues, he had a bad habit of not recognizing his own mistakes and he sure as hell didn’t take responsibility for them. He also didn’t handle being humi—no, not that. He hated appearing undignified more than just about anything on earth. So being annoyed when he tripped over a mid-sized black leopard he didn’t know was there? That was perfectly understandable.

Threatening Fiero for being a damned nuisance, just like Stark, followed with snapping at Tony about keeping his damned social anxiety crutch on a leash?

Not so much.

The resultant outrage from everyone in the room (except Romanova, who had been totally forgotten) shocked him into silence. He was completely taken aback by their offense on Fiero’s behalf, offense which quickly spread to encompass Tony as well. His Accords liaison had done a massive amount of research into Familiar Bonds when he realized he’d be in close proximity to one and gave Wilson a blistering lecture about how unwarranted his attitude and behavior were, along with a warning that it would not be tolerated again — and that was completely separate from any actions Tony chose to take in response.

Stunned, Wilson only nodded and scurried from the room, cheeks blazing with humiliation and anger, and after his self-righteous indignation was soothed and placated by Rogers, he began to plot. He had no choice but to tolerate the cat while Stark was on a mission, but he didn’t have to cater to it.

Everyone, including Tony, was blissfully unaware that this was exactly the reaction Fiero had been hoping to induce.

So the next time Wilson was part of a mission, Fiero made a point of getting close enough to him to whack his arm or leg with his ridiculously long tail, which was heavy enough to leave bruises. He would also randomly curl up in a tight ball near the man’s chair, thus guaranteeing that Wilson — who wasn’t that smart or someone who learned from his mistakes — would trip over him when he got up. But he did the latter so infrequently, and in no pattern at all, that no one suspected that Fiero was deliberately riling the man’s temper.

And when he finally lost it and blew the second chance he’d been unjustly given, it actually had nothing to do with Fiero or Tony.

Wilson had been out on a run in Central Park and was walking back to his Uber. His shirt was covering his face as he wiped off the sweat and, momentarily blind, he tripped over a puppy who’d gotten off his leash, staggered like a drunk clown at a redneck rodeo, and went headfirst into one of the park’s nasty, filthy water fountains.

He came unwound. The multiple recordings of him completely losing his shit and screaming at the dog for deliberately tripping him went viral while they were being filmed and posted. The dog’s owner, a Navy SEAL on leave, took issue with the entire tantrum and the world got a bonus Easter Egg of seeing Sam Wilson pancaked back into the fountain with one effortless strike, while the terrified puppy was cuddled by several bystanders and given more treats than a grown elephant could safely eat. When Wilson tried to push himself out of the water, the man’s Marine sister dipped her foot in the water, scruffed it in a pile of dirt, and planted her muddy boot right in the middle of his ass to shove him back down before she and her brother took their puppy, thanked the crowd for their help, and regally left the park.

It took the cops almost an hour to get Wilson out, because they couldn’t quit laughing long enough to get a decent grip on him, and the crowd was no help at all. They did manage to turn him over so he didn’t drown, but that was it, so he marinated in the dirty, stagnant water until it would take being steam-blasted by an industrial water hose to get him clean. Then, because his life didn’t suck enough, when he appeared at the Accords hearing two days later, multiple recordings of his similar behavior and attitude toward Fiero sealed his fate.

As the Council President said, voice dripping with disappointment, “If we cannot trust you to behave in the presence of an animal who not only isn’t trying to hurt you, but isn’t engaging with you at all, we do not dare risk allowing you to deal with a terrified, injured child.”

Sam Wilson left his hearing in handcuffs. He was broken, though he didn’t understand why . . . until he saw Tony, who hadn’t attended the hearing, standing in the hallway, talking to someone while Fiero stood guard. Hatred sizzled through him at the sight of the leopard, but he managed to keep himself from doing anything stupid.

But something got Fiero’s attention and he turned his head, meeting Wilson’s furious eyes with his own vivid green gaze.

Then he walked toward Wilson, holding his eyes the entire time, and stropped the woman escorting him to a holding cell. When she squealed softly in delight and eagerly stroked his head for a few minutes, Wilson scowled, annoyed but also extremely disquieted, because the cat still hadn’t looked away or blinked. But then Tony looked up and called him, and Fiero pivoted instantly — and whacked Wilson’s handcuffed wrist so hard he swore it was broken, though his hiss of pain was masked by the sound of a massive feline sneeze. Then Fiero looked up, straight into Wilson’s eyes, and whacked him again, this time in the knee. It was clearly deliberate and he floundered, stunned as he realized that he’d been set up by a leopard. Said leopard saw the realization in his eyes, sneezed in Wilson’s face, and turned away, strolling back to Tony’s side without a hint of fear for his prey’s reaction.

Being so obviously, so deliberately, insulted by a fucking cat was the last straw and Wilson snapped. He lunged for Fiero, wanting nothing so much as to hit him hard enough to bruise and pound the smugness out of his eyes. His rage was such that he never felt himself being tackled into the wall and knocked unconscious, so his next memory was waking up in a standard prison cell, where he would spend the next decade. Every time he saw Tony and Fiero on the news, rescuing people or fundraising or just walking down the street, he would grind his teeth further down, but when he watched Fiero use his tail to rescue a toddler trapped under a bicycle, he was finally forced to admit the truth: he’d been beaten and deliberately destroyed by the most dangerous enemy he didn’t know he’d made — and it was all for the love of a man Wilson had disrespected and hurt and betrayed for no reason.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

~~~

Clint Barton was a non-entity.

He had accepted a plea deal that put him on house-arrest for two years — including an on-site handler, an ankle monitor designed and built by Tony Stark, and an implanted microchip he knew nothing about (insisted on and implemented by the Accords Council and approved by the UN), should the ankle monitor have a meeting with Natasha Romanova and miraculously stop working — and living a completely civilian life: no missions, no training of agents, no reconnaissance, no contacts, no information passing, no nothing. He would be nothing but a husband, a father, and a civilian, ideally a farmer since he already owned one.

But he would be completely self-sufficient. If he was unable to meet that requirement, which included holding a steady job if farming didn’t work out (and would be difficult, given his well-known crimes and the small size of the neighboring towns), or got into any legal trouble of any kind, including a parking ticket or meter violation, the pardon would be rescinded and he would be in a holding cell with charges pending by the end of the day.

Barton scoffed at that, not remotely concerned about his reunion with his family, and eagerly boarded the plane, so desperate to be home that he almost shoved the pilot aside so he could fly it himself. His handler and the cabin crew heaved exasperated sighs but said nothing and the trip was made in silence, though the crew and the unfortunate rent-a-cop (his new code name and when he found out who had coined it, he was going to haul them in front of the entire UN and give them a wedgie) had a fairly intense conversation via Messenger, punctuated by the odd game of Candy Crush; Barton said and did nothing but stare out the window, which they all found a little creepy but it kept him from bothering them, so whatever. Then came the long car ride from the airport to the Barton farm, in which neither of them spoke a word, but things somehow still weren’t awkward.

Then they arrived at the farm.

It was was abandoned. Completely. If you listened hard enough, you could hear banjos playing and three tumbleweeds blew past while Barton was staring in uncomprehending disbelief. The barn looked as though it had been ransacked and it was showing serious signs of neglect and decay, as was the house, which told Barton this wasn’t a new circumstance. Nobody had lived here for a least a year and fear clogged his throat. Had Ross gotten to them? Had Stark?

Slowly, reluctantly, he climbed the steps to the front porch, pausing a few times when something creaked ominously beneath his feet, but he managed to get to the front door unscathed. Taped just above the doorknob was a thick, weather-protected envelope, and Barton stared at it quizzically for a while before pulling it loose and stuffing it in his pocket, more concerned with reuniting with his family. It still took him a couple of minutes to work up the courage to open the door and step inside, but when he did, his legs went out from under him and he hit the ground, staring in abject horror.

The only things left in the living room were his, bought before he and Laura got married. And they hadn’t even been left in place; if moving them had been necessary to get to something else, his stuff was left to lay where it had been dropped.

And his things had been dropped. There had been very little care taken with anything that belonged solely to Barton, with the exceptions of the set of Barnum shot glasses he’d found in a pawn shop and his first bow and quiver, something he’d kept for highly unusual reasons of sentiment. Nothing had been deliberately broken, his experienced eye could see that, but no attention had been given either. If it was his and it broke, oh, well.

That was bad enough, but the obvious lack of Laura and their children was terrifying and Barton swallowed as he got to his feet and unsteadily walked through the abandoned room. He kept his vision trained straight ahead, so he didn’t see the look of mingled satisfaction and compassion on his handler’s face; the man hadn’t known about this, but he couldn’t say it surprised him and he could find only a very small amount of pity for Barton. Thankfully for both of them, Barton remained unaware of this, because he might well have snapped and done something stupid.

Then they got to the kitchen and the former Avenger couldn’t contain his anguished cry, because it too had stripped bare. Literally. The only thing left was the wallpaper and the big appliances, because Laura had done the remodel herself and those wooden wall panels and cabinets were her pride and joy. And in a final act of pure spite, she had put Barton’s rickety-legged card table in the middle of the empty room and left two legal-sized manila envelopes and a flash drive on the surface. No note, no letter, no message of any kind. It was ominous and Barton swallowed hard. For what felt like hours, he just stared at the items awaiting his attention; he feared from the depths of his soul what was contained within, but he also knew he’d never be able to live without knowing. So, his legs deceptively steady, he walked forward and picked up the closest packet.

Inside was a decree stripping him of his parental rights to Cooper, Lila, and Nathanial Bishop, effective more than two years ago.

Once again, his knees went out and he hit the ground, dropping the packet that had just robbed him of a third of his life. According to this, his children were no longer his, they never would be again, he had no clue where they were, and if he tried to search or asked any of his contacts to look on his behalf, he would be arrested.

How like Laura. She was thorough on a bad day, but when she was pissed off or feeling vindictive? He’d find Jimmy Hoffa’s body before he found her and their kids.

Because it was obvious the other envelope held a divorce decree. And it did, dated the same day. But after fighting through his grief at seeing that Laura had willingly relinquished his name, both for her and their kids, something caught his attention as he was fumbling to stuff the papers back, something about surrendering all rights to the farm, and he paused, pulling the wad back out and focusing on the section where property division was spelled out. Laura had willingly forfeited all rights to the farm and its revenues, both for herself and for her children, and then removed her name from the deed, which was the last paper in the packet. She’d never been on the mortgage, but now, it was as though Barton had never had a family at all. His children no longer carried his name, his wife had completely removed herself from his life and from anything they had shared . . . it was like the last decade of his life had never happened. He wasn’t even sure he had any pictures in his wallet.

The thought of watching whatever torture was saved on the thumb drive made Barton queasy, though it was tempered with relief that he actually couldn’t view it, since electronics other than an Accords-provided and monitored flip phone were forbidden for nine months.

Of course, because the universe hated him, his handler softly cleared his throat and produced his own laptop, setting it carefully on the table and offering Barton, who was still on the floor, what appeared to be a sympathetic look (this one was genuine; he couldn’t imagine losing his family, especially like that, and though it was a well-deserved and fitting punishment, as a father, he still felt a little empathy). He grunted in absent acknowledgement and then just stared blankly at an equally blank wall for more than twenty minutes before suddenly blinking himself back to life. With steady hands and a pounding heart, Barton inserted the drive, opened the first file . . .

. . . and cried out in wordless denial when he was presented with a three-minute video of Tony Stark laughing with Laura and answering to Uncle Tony, giving Lila a handcrafted bow perfectly sized for her, handing Cooper a brand-new quiver, and producing a Spiderman onesie for Nathaniel.

It abruptly ended and autoplay kicked in, so Barton had no chance to recover from the maelstrom of emotions that video had stirred up. So of course, the next clip was also of Tony Stark and Barton’s family . . . wait, what? Was that — was Barton losing his mind or did Stark have a giant black panther with him?

Squinting, he leaned closer to the screen, only to rear back in shock when a huge black nose suddenly shoved the camera to the side before the fucking wild animal bounced back to Clint’s children and . . . and . . . curled up on the floor and let them pet him and cuddle him and, in Lila’s case, hand-feed him.

What?!

Yeah, he’d heard the rumors that Stark had been seen with a leopard, but they were in Wakanda, so outside news was spotty on a bad day, incomplete on a good one, and unreliable either way. So he — they — had all dismissed the rumors as the media’s need to drum up headlines and apparently Stark had been laying low and not giving them his usual scandals. It was typical media idiocy, so none of them had given it a second thought.

And yet, here was video evidence that the media had been right. Incongruously, that was the most shocking part of it, something that would have sent Laura into gales of laughter had she been there.

But she’d never be there again. Barton’s kids would never be there again.

He watched all the way to the end of that horrific video montage, unable to look away and desperately hoping that he’d at least get a message from Laura, something to prove that he hadn’t imagined the last decade of his life. But there was nothing. She didn’t even deign to give him a final ‘fuck you’.

She simply showed him through those awful video clips that would not stop what family looked like. Barton watched Stark and his fucking special pet — because heaven forbid the bastard get a dog — clearly becoming part of Laura’s family, and hated the world. But it wasn’t until Potts and Rhodes and some teenager started joining them that anger finally kicked in. The laptop sat innocently on the table, taunting Clint with the knowledge that Tony Fucking Stark not only had his own family, but he was now closer to Barton’s family than he was and ever would be again, and probably knew where they were.

But even if the former agent could get to Stark, it would be a suicide mission. The Accords Council had gone to great lengths to drive that point home: every single member of the Rogue Avengers were forbidden from entering any and all property owned, rented, maintained, or affiliated with Stark Industries, Tony Stark, or Pepper Potts. Furthermore, the restraining order decreed that if any of them got closer than 1000 feet to Stark, Potts, Peter Parker, or James Rhodes, they would be arrested. But if any of them felt their life or safety was being threatened by Stark’s former teammates, they had been granted the right to use lethal force to protect themselves.

So as badly as Barton wanted to rip Stark’s lungs out — after he gave up Laura’s location — he couldn’t muster the energy to get off the floor.

There was no reason; his entire life was gone. All he had left was an abandoned farm and his memories, and after three years on the run, those were starting to fade. With a defeated sigh, he finally got up, only for the envelope he’d jammed in his pocket earlier come loose. Quick as a snake, he snatched it mid-air air and tore it open, numb but still angry and feeling a spurt of glee when the carefully-sealed paper tore in a violent line, destroying it.

Mr. Clint Francis Barton:

This is your official notice that the property at 42408 Wagon Trail Road has been repossessed by the county of Marigold due to failure to pay property taxes for the years of 2016, 2017, and 2018, and will be sold in a lien-auction on September 30, 2019 unless the full amount of $32,462.16 is paid by August 31. Please contact our office at 555-555-1234 if you have any questions.

Pauline Trent
Marigold County Tax Assessor

He had to read the note three times before it could even begin to make sense, but when it finally did, he broke down. Seeing his abandoned home hadn’t done it; being informed by way of official decrees that his family was gone hadn’t done it; watching his family happily interacting with Tony Stark and his pet leopard and not missing him once hadn’t done it.

But this two-sentence note had broken Clint Barton. It was already September, so even if he’d had the money, it was too late. And that wasn’t taking the mortgage into account, because that hadn’t been paid, either.

It was over. His life was over. He was homeless, friendless, penniless, and alone. Completely alone. There was nowhere to run, no favors to call in, no deal he could make. He’d been so sure his family would be waiting for him that he hadn’t even tried to negotiate, and they’d warned him at the time that his house arrest and civilian status was a mandatory two-year sentence. The end of the world wouldn’t override them, so the ending of Barton’s world certainly wouldn’t do it.

He never heard his handler leave the room, both giving him space to grieve and taking the chance to call the Council so he could update them on the situation. Barton had no funds available; everything had been frozen when he’d been declared an international terrorist and a wanted fugitive, and Laura had taken everything that she was legally entitled to. He wouldn’t be able to get a civilian job, since his criminal record was both well-known and ugly, and he was forbidden to do any government work. That meant his only option for any kind of housing or food was prison, which was where he was headed because he could no longer meet the requirements of his pardon.

He never did accept that his situation was solely of his own making, though he did stop railing about Tony Fucking Stark after the eighth time it landed him in the prison infirmary. The Warden got sick of his bullshit and threw him into solitary for three days, which actually managed to wake up a few of Barton’s brain cells. He quit verbally blaming Stark for his situation, but that was it. The Accords Council, who was getting written and verbal reports as well as prison recordings, concluded at the end of his original two-year house arrest that he was still utterly lacking in remorse or regret about his actions, and he also failed to realize that he had broken multiple laws in several countries. The decision was therefore made that proceedings would begin for an official criminal trial, under the aegis of the Accords so all of the international charges could be handled simultaneously.

Tony Stark, who actually knew nothing about any of this prior to being summoned as a witness for the prosecution, was therefore taken aback when Barton saw him, yelled something incoherent, and lunged for him, murder in his eyes. Fiero met him before he made it three steps and broke his forearm with one vicious bite before putting himself directly in front of Tony and snarling so furiously, the entire room took four steps back.

It was an ignominious end for Clint Barton, because nothing changed for him except the location of his prison. He went from a small, shitty cell in a county prison to a smaller, equally shitty cell in a German one, and for the rest of his life, he never saw, spoke to, or communicated with anyone from the outside world.

Laura and her children never knew any of this, by deliberate choice, but Barton himself gave them the vengeance they deserved.

~~~

Scott Lang was slightly less of a non-entity.

He had no reason to take a deal for house arrest, as Maggie had told him to his face (well, okay, over a video call, but still) that the world would literally end before he ever saw Cassie again, or she turned 18 and could make her decision about whether she wanted to visit him. That left him no options but prison or accepting the pardon and everything that came with it.

Added to that was the fact that his view of and feelings about Tony Stark were based solely on Hank Pym's opinion. Left to his own devices, he presented no danger to Fiero's bondmate. But the point still needed to be made, just in case the man was stupider than he appeared.

So the first time he had a chance to interact directly with Lang, Fiero simply sat down in front of him, making a point of blocking Tony from the other man's sight, put a massive paw on his knee, looked straight in his eyes, and yowled a clear, unambiguous warning, complete with flexing his claws hard enough to puncture Lang's jeans but not actually scratching the skin.

Scott Lang peed himself, passed out from fear, and never said a word to Tony Stark that wasn't 'Yes', 'no problem', or 'can you please clarify'.

Problem solved.

~~~

Wanda Maximoff was considerably more difficult, but Fiero was a leopard on a mission.

Had his bondmate never interacted with her again for the rest of their lives, Fiero would have left it alone, but there were better odds of a Vegas marriage lasting than Tony having that much luck.

The circumstances that finally forced Tony and Maximoff to be in the same room involved a collapsed building, 32 trapped civilians, and the massive differences in experience, ability, and arrogance. At first, the only Avengers present were Maximoff, Romanova, and Wilson, but it took less than an hour for everyone but those three to realize that they weren’t going to be able to successfully evacuate the building, and the head of the task force called to request Tony Stark, with the Iron Man suit if possible, since Rhodes was on another mission on a different continent and they were the only two who could both fly and were engineers. The fact that they were also both rocket scientists didn’t hurt.

The resultant tantrum from Maximoff was both pitiful and impressive, but nobody had time to deal with it, so she was simply ignored, which left her fuming in impotent rage while Tony calculated the physics for safely moving the rubble and the best potential options for rescuing the trapped workers. This was one of the few missions Fiero had accompanied him to, as his training in search and rescue made him essential as well. All three of the Rogues were seething as Tony blatantly ignored them (Romanova was in the middle of being humbled and Fiero had only just started on Wilson) while he was drawing up the extraction plans, but it was Maximoff who held the leopard’s attention.

Her dark, acrid hatred was visible in the close quarters of the command tent and when she objected to Tony’s decision to sideline her for the time being, red sparks flared from her hands and eyes. The urgency of the situation meant that Tony didn’t bother with attempting to be diplomatic, and his response to her bitching was, “Look, you might be able to pick up a 2-ton slab with your magic, but that doesn’t do a damn bit of good if you don’t know where to put it, or if moving it is safe to begin with. That building is so unstable, it’ll come down if you cough on it, and randomly moving shit around is going to get everyone trapped in there killed. That means I have to be in the air to survey and make the calculations and once I know what’s safe to move and where, I’ll tell you. Aht!” he snapped when she drew a harsh breath, waving his finger in front of her nose and visibly suppressing his flinch when her magic shocked him a little.

Fiero, however, tensed. He could taste the violence simmering just below the surface, and her hatred was a tangible thing, and he knew that her control was non-existent. So when Tony turned away from her to focus on the task force leader, the leopard was the only one not caught by surprise when she shrieked in wordless fury and threw a massive wave of red magic at Tony’s unprotected back. Her eyes were glowing with hatred and an insane desire to inflict agony on her target and she was still screaming wordlessly . . . only to splutter to silence mid-noise when Fiero activated his suit and leaped between his bondmate and the witch. The armor, which had been reinforced against most magical and mental attacks by Stephen Strange and Charles Xavier, ricocheted the magic directly back to Maximoff, who didn’t have time to react before she was slammed flat on her back from the force of her own spell, gasping for breath and unable to move.

Before anyone else could react, Fiero was standing over her, one paw keeping her torso pinned the floor.

And her throat was being held delicately between his razor-sharp teeth.

Everyone froze and the tension ratcheted to unbearable levels. For a solid minute, nobody breathed but Fiero and the sound of his soft, threatening growls had the same effect as bomb detonating in the tent.

The field commander recovered first, but he made no move to intervene. On a personal level, he wouldn’t mind in the slightest if Fiero ripped the witch’s throat out, but professionally, he had no right to interfere with a Familiar Bond.

And he sure as hell wasn’t stupid enough to do so.

It took Tony a few minutes longer to recover from his stunned disbelief, but once he did, he stepped forward and curved his hand across the back of the leopard’s neck, squeezing gently as he began to murmur nonsense in an effort to calm his bondmate down enough that he didn’t kill Maximoff . . . though he wouldn’t object in the slightest if she got a little maimed. But they didn’t have time for this right now; those people needed to be rescued ASAP and that meant Tony and Fiero had to get out there.

Being the unusually empathetic animal he was, Fiero sensed Tony’s desire for a peaceful resolution, at least for the moment, and he grudgingly released the scrawny throat from his grip, growling again in warning as he took a step back.

Maximoff’s black, bitter hatred surged again, swamping Fiero, and he hissed his fury. But his bondmate had already forbidden her death, so he did the only thing available to him in the moment.

You see, Fiero had observed that Wanda Maximoff was extremely vain and liked looking good. She refused to even go into the cafeteria without styling her hair and putting on mascara and foundation (badly, according to his bondmate’s mate, whose judgement he trusted implicitly).

So, since he couldn’t kill her, he chose to humiliate her. He pivoted so he was facing Tony and peed directly on her face. Her outraged scream cut off with a splutter, which sent everyone in the tent but Romanova and Wilson into paroxysms of laughter, and Fiero chuffed, strongly pleased with himself and satisfied that he’d neutered the witch for the time being. Once he was done, he shook his butt several times to rid himself of any lingering moisture and then strode to Tony, head tilted in expectation of a head scratch and praises, both of which he received in spades.

And not just from Tony.

But as he walked away, he accidentally scratched her inner left wrist. It was so minor, it wasn’t noticeable even when people went looking for it, but it ended up giving Fiero and Tony the best vengeance they could ever have hoped for.

Apparently, something about the venom on his claws reacted . . . badly . . . with the magic running through Maximoff’s veins. And his claw had nicked a blood vessel; it was an insignificant one, and the scratch was miniscule, but a few drops of his venom still got into her bloodstream.

And it began to kill off her powers. By the end of the week, she was nothing but a baseline human and nobody could figure out why or how. Even Fiero didn’t understand at first, and Tony didn’t have a clue either, since neither of them realized that Fiero had scratched her. It took the leopard about fifteen minutes in her presence to pick up on the fact that his scent was lingering in her pores, and while it was a weak scent, and fading fast, it was still there. And the strongest trace came from her left wrist.

The loss of her powers had revealed her true mental and emotional states, and once everyone had recovered from their horror, she had been gagged and bound, first with handcuffs and then a straightjacket after the fifth time she hurt herself trying to break free of her bonds and screaming incoherently into her gag. After four doctors failed to determine the potential cause of the issue, Tony had hesitantly asked his bondmate to take a look, swearing that he would be there the entire time and he would vaporize her on the spot if she tried anything.

When the leopard realized what had happened, he chuffed in pure glee and pounced on Tony, licking his face all over and yipping like an excited puppy. He couldn’t explain in detail, but he was able to send emotional impressions that were strong and detailed enough for Tony to get the gist, which set him off into incredibly relieved, slightly hysterical laughter of his own, and the two of them collapsed in a heap on the floor of Maximoff’s cell, celebrating the fact that the witch had been neutered by complete accident and without causing death, destruction, or mayhem first.

When he finally calmed down, Tony carefully got to his feet, cursing his gimp knee and ignoring his leopard’s amusement. He took the three steps separating him from the prison cot and looked the woman straight in her crazed, hostile, terrified eyes. His own power rose in response, strengthened by Fiero, and Maximoff’s muffled screams quickly tapered off as she saw for the first time just how much of himself Tony had hidden, how powerful he really was, and how merciless he could be when he or his were threatened. She had threatened him — openly, repeatedly, and proudly.

So he destroyed her.

“Welcome to reality, Wanda,” he breathed, his voice throbbing with malicious satisfaction. “What’s happened here, you losing your powers? That was a complete accident. It wasn’t supposed to happen; hell, we didn’t know it could happen. But when Fiero scratched you that day, he killed off the very thing that made you special. And it can’t be reversed; your body literally can’t do it again.”

Her eyes blew wide with anguished denial and she screamed into her gag, but Tony was unmoved. He didn’t quite enjoy seeing her distress, but he didn’t have the slightest desire to soothe it, either.

And then her hands, still trapped in a straightjacket because she kept clawing at her chest in a desperate attempt to find some remnant of her powers, spasmed, while her eyes glowed red for just a split second in her rage-fueled need to hurt him.

A bitter scoff was Tony’s only response, and he never moved.

But that attempt to hurt him shredded his last morsel of compassion and his eyes went ice cold as frost formed on all the metal in the room. Beside him, Fiero went into Guard Mode and was growling low in his throat. His eyes fixed unwaveringly on the witch-no-longer and the promise of death was blazing in them.

Tony sniffed and scratched his bondmate’s ears, his touch comforting and calming, even as he watched Maximoff finally grasp the fact that she was completely at his mercy. He relished her terror at the realization that he could do literally anything he wanted to her and no one would offer a single word of objection. Tears spilled from her eyes, but Tony and Fiero were both unmoved, because they both knew her sorrow was for herself, not for the actions that had resulted in the situation.

Then Tony, surrendering to the perverse sense of the dramatic that was so strong in him, leaned down and whispered, “You know, I was going to suggest execution. It would be justice for your victims but still merciful to you, but even now, in the ashes of your own, self-made destruction, you still don’t understand that everything that’s happened is a direct result of your actions. So I’m going to let you live. Powerless. Helpless. Forgotten. At the mercy of the victims who lived and the families of those who didn’t. You’re young, and I’ll make sure you’re well-fed and any injuries are treated — and suicide to escape won’t be an option, so don’t get your hopes up. Your life will be long and excrutiating.”

She moaned in despair into her gag, tears flowing freely now, and he smirked as he straightened and gave Fiero one final ear scratch before heading to the door.

Just before he stepped over the threshold, he turned and gave her one final, icy parting shot.

“You might even end up being a test subject for some grieving daughter or sister, because they’re training their new powers so they can take revenge on you because you killed their parents.”

Muffled screams filled the tiny cell as Tony and Fiero walked away, already forgetting Maximoff in favor of what to get for lunch.

Two hundred and seven days later, Tony’s prediction came true.

He didn’t react at all when he found out, but he and Fiero disappeared for several hours and they were somber after their return, but also grimly satisfied and somehow . . . unburdened.

Justice had finally been served.

~~~

Steve Rogers ended up being much easier than Fiero had expected, but no less satisfying, and he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

Three days after Wanda Maximoff lost her abilities and Tony arranged to have her sentenced for life and full access given to her victims and their families, Rogers ignored everything that the literal entire world had told him about staying the hell away from Tony Stark and stormed into the main lobby of Stark Tower. In a truly astounding coincidence, Tony was there, having come to fetch Peter since the kid, once again, had left both his badge and his ID upstairs. They were playfully bickering, with the amused receptionist and exasperated security guards watching, when The World’s Most Entitled Asshole made The World’s Least Impressive Entrance.

It was hilarious, especially given the look on his face, because he had clearly meant to slam open the doors, possibly shattering glass in the process to display his strength and ensure all eyes were on him in awe and respect.

Instead, he was forced to stop and wait for the automatic doors to open enough for him to fit through, which meant that everyone watched with contempt and disdain as he was stymied by something a child could navigate and gave them plenty of time to react accordingly. By the time he finished squeezing through the hole, everyone but four security guards, Tony, Fiero, and Peter (who won the argument simply because Tony couldn’t physically pick him up and haul him to safety, much to his father’s mingled fear, annoyance, and pride) was safely tucked behind the impenetrable retractable wall Tony had installed shortly after the pardons were announced.

Reclaiming his lost dignity was impossible, but Rogers managed to ignore the quiet snickers emanating from Security (and one teenage boy whose presence puzzled him) as he stomped up to Tony. His face was bright red with indignation, and also sported the sanctimonious ‘I Am Very Disappointed in You’ look that pissed everyone off, even his teammates. His gaze was fixed unwaveringly on his target as he raised his hands so he could grab the man and force him to obey Steve’s demands.

He never saw Fiero leap forward, but he felt the impact of 200lbs of solid muscle slam into his chest hard enough to crack his sternum and drive him into the floor so brutally, several tiles shattered.

He also felt the sharp, excruciating pain of the teeth that sank into his throat, followed by a hot gush of blood that terrified him.

Then he heard Tony screaming something and suddenly, the weight pinning him to the floor was gone and he was gasping for breath, only to gurgle instead because each pass of air was agony on his torn throat. He was also unable to sit up because, in addition to the unimaginable pain the bite was causing him, a strange lethargy was stealing through his body, leaving a very uncomfortable burning sensation behind it. His ears were roaring and tears were dripping down his jaw to his ears, and there was so much happening to his body that he couldn’t focus on anything but how much he hurt.

But when a shocked chorus of “Whoa!” and “What the hell?!” and “Oh, my God!” and similar exclamations suddenly filled the lobby, he blinked furiously to clear his eyes and tried again to sit up and see what was happening to him.

And failed miserably when his body refused to respond, weighted down by a horribly familiar weakness he didn’t immediately recognize but somehow felt like he should.

Of course, Tony, being Tony, answered his desperate question anyway, though it didn’t really clear anything up.

“Wow, Rogers. You were a scrawny bastard, weren’t you?”

What?

A deep sigh followed this statement, and then Tony said, “That wasn’t necessary, you know. I had a gauntlet watch on.”

Who on earth was he talki—was that a cat meowing? Steve braced his arms, trying desperately to push himself up to a seated position and failing again, to his immense frustration. He did manage to force his eyes open, though, and the first thing he saw was Tony, standing next to him and looking both irritated and pleased, which pissed Steve off enough that he was able to forget the throbbing agony in his throat and his terrifying weakness for a few seconds.

Until he took a deep breath so he could chew Tony out for what he’d done to poor Wanda on top of whatever was happening to Steve himself, and promptly gagged on the pain. Above him, he heard another deep sigh, followed by, “Well, at least he won’t be a problem anymore. And everybody and their dog saw him try to attack me, so . . . I’ll call the Council. Happy, can you get an ambulance? I’m not putting him in my Medbay, even if Cho and Wu agreed to treat him.”

That made no sense to Steve. Nothing about this made sense and he was infuriated that he was being so blatantly ignored. He expected Tony’s disrespect, but no one else was trying to help him, and that was just unacceptable! Once more, he tried to sit up. Once more, he failed.

But this time, he realized why.

And screamed.

He was oblivious to the pain of his torn throat and damaged vocal chords, wailing in agony at the reemergence of the weakness of his old body, the one he had suffered as Sickly Stevie, the boy everyone had pitied and disregarded and dismissed. This couldn’t be happening! He was Captain America! He was strong and powerful and respected. He was a hero!

He was still wailing and flailing his arms frantically in his desperate attempt to deny what had just happened when the screeching wheels of an approaching gurney broke through his grief-stricken haze and he tried to turn his head. He didn’t have enough strength to control his neck and his head lolled to the side instead, leaving him with his cheek smashed against the cold tile.

His eyes were immediately caught by a huge black cat, sitting directly in his eyesight and almost completely blocking Tony from Steve’s view.

He wanted to look at Tony, to demand an explanation, an apology, to fix this, when the giant cat bared its teeth.

Steve went totally still.

Those wicked fangs were still gleaming with blood.

His blood.

This . . . thing . . . had just attacked him out of nowhere, ripped out his throat, and somehow taken his powers away. And not a single person was stepping up to help Steve or put that dangerous beast in a cage, where it belonged.

He and the cat were locked in a staring contest, righteous indignation clashing with protective fury — and losing badly — when he felt hands grab at his shoulders and ankles before he was lifted up. Pain like he’d never felt in his life knifed through him as he lost the stability of the floor and a single raspy scream escaped his mangled throat as the world went dark.

When he returned to consciousness four days later, he was greeted by a stern, no-nonsense woman who informed him that he was in the prison infirmary and would eventually recover, though his vocal chords had been damaged beyond the ability for anything to restore them to full health. Oh, and the serum had been completely purged from his system, so he had his original body back. However, the good news was that none of the known medical issues that had plagued him had returned, other than the asthma, and he should be healed enough to go to his cell in a week, barring any complications.

She swept from the room before Steve could get his thoughts in order, never mind demand more information. It would be another two days before his Accords liaison visited him, but that meeting ended rather abruptly when she told Steve that his pardon had been revoked and he’d been tried in absentia for all of his crimes, including his lies and betrayal of the Stark family in Siberia and his unprovoked attack at the Tower, and found guilty on all charges. Due to his return to his pre-serum body, it was decided that execution was unnecessary and he had instead been sentenced to life in prison. Once that news was delivered, there was literally nothing else to say, so the woman just nodded to Steve and left the room, valiantly pretending she didn’t hear a grown man the size of a underfed fifteen-year-old who sounded like he smoked eight packs a day whining about unfair life was and how mean people were being when he was only trying to help them.

His subsequent, and never-ending, protests of biased, unfair treatment and corrupt governments didn’t just fall on deaf ears. They were utterly ignored. Not even the other prisoners, the ones who were supposed to be there, agreed with him. But the worst thing? He became completely invisible. Not a single person would respond to his attempts to pick a fight, be it verbal or physical, and nobody would engage him in normal conversation. The only indicator that anyone in the prison knew he was there was the fact that they would move to avoid running over him, but that was it. He would have had more impact as a wall decoration.

Once again, Steve Rogers had become no one.

And if Tony sometimes hacked the camera in his cell and smiled as Rogers cried himself to sleep after raging in a harsh, ruined voice about how unfair his life was, well . . . maybe.

Maybe not.

~~~

The last measure of justice for Tony, with a juicy side of revenge, came for Wakanda, by way of her arrogant king and his less arrogant but extremely spoiled and entitled sister.

Wakanda as a country was deeply offended that not only had someone outside their country dared to take the personification of their deity as a pet, but the usurper was a white colonizer who had the unmitigated gall to be better not just at diplomacy, but his knowledge and ability to lead greatly exceeded their king's. And, as though that wasn't enough offense, he was also demonstrably more intelligent than their princess. But the greatest insult came from the fact that he was superior at . . . well, everything they could make comparisons on, technology-wise, whether or not vibranium was part of the equation.

(they were terrified to know what Stark could do with their sacred metal)

Shuri took the latter as something of a personal insult, as she had been told since the age of nine that she was the smartest person who been born in recent memory and her inventions were often nothing short of miraculous, while T’Challa bristled at the audacity of the aforementioned white colonizer to usurp his avatar, since he was the Black Panther.

They all either ignored the fact that Fiero and Tony had a Familiar Bond or simply didn’t know what it meant, but either way, Tony got nothing but grief both times he had to interact with the Wakandan Royals.

Then the third meeting happened, this time in front of the UN Assembly . . . and Fiero, who had reluctantly heeded his bondmate’s request to leave it alone, T’Challa and Shuri’s ignorance wasn’t worth getting excited about, finally had enough.

The reason for this meeting was the yearly assessment of all of the individual Avenger's registered skills and abilities. This meant that everyone was suited up and armed, though precautions had naturally been taken to neutralize any weapons should it be necessary. T’Challa, who was by pure coincidence last in line, had just finished his demonstration of the Black Panther suit.

And that was what ended Fiero’s patience with the fool.

He was strolling to his chair, face set in arrogant triumph, when Fiero, standing loyally by Tony’s side, gave him a look that stopped him in his tracks and also sucked all the air out of the room. The leopard nudged his bondmate’s thigh in reassurance and regally sauntered over to the young king, circling him slowly and with such intense scrutiny, even the onlookers were uncomfortable. After he’d made one full circuit, Fiero took four steps back and . . . sneered. There was no other word for his expression and T’Challa’s jaw dropped.

As did everyone else’s.

Fiero simply chuffed out a disgusted sound and stalked forward again, raising his paw and displaying his claws.

Which he promptly raked over the hip of the Black Panther suit.

Cries of alarm echoed through the room, but they quickly tapered off when a stunned, disbelieving Black Panther fingered the shredded remains of the supposedly-indestructible vibranium suit he’d just spent the last fifteen minutes bragging about and showing off.

Fiero yowled something that was so clearly insulting even the Russians were taken aback, and contemptuously turned his back, sauntering back to Tony’s side without a care in the world.

The Wakandans collectively died of embarrassment on the spot, while Tony just sighed and scratched his bondmate’s ears. He didn’t speak, either to explain or apologize, not that anyone could fault him for that. They’d all seen and heard the increasing disdain and resentment, clearly unjustified, that the country held for him, and nobody could blame him or his Familiar for finally having enough. And frankly, the way Fiero had proved the point about Wakanda’s ‘superiority’ was priceless. The fact that the first bonded black panther in three hundred years had blatantly rejected The Black Panther would quickly become a legend and not just among the assembled world powers.

In the meantime, since that little display effectively ended the meeting, Fiero and Tony made a quiet exit, stage left, accompanied by several of their teammates, and they all headed out for pizza.

It would take more than that for Wakanda as a nation to learn humility, and that undiminished arrogance would cost T’Challa both the throne and the title of Black Panther. Shuri, however, began to reconsider some of her long-held beliefs, which was encouraged by her deeply appreciative mother (she was so grateful, she sent Tony four crates of rare coffee blends, while Fiero got more toys, treats, and other adornments that befitted the majesty of the living avatar of their deity than he could use in three lifetimes). And after five years of Ramonda ruling as the Widow Queen while her son lost everything to his arrogance and her daughter finally grew up, Shuri ascended to the throne . . . but not to the title of Black Panther. Out of respect, that remained open and unclaimed until after the deaths of Tony Stark and Fiero.

The only exception to that was the invasion Tony had been warning people about for six years, because every weapon and warrior would be needed.

When the time came, Tony Stark and his bondmate, his black panther, stood shoulder to shoulder with the Black Panther, protecting the world.

And they won.

~~~

Tony Stark’s Familiar Bond with Fiero quickly became the norm among his family, friends, and teammates, even as he — they — became a living legend walking the world to protect its people, rescue them, and ultimately, save them.

But Pepper and Peter never forgot that Fiero had come to Tony’s side when he was at one of his lowest points and given him the unconditional strength, loyalty, and love he needed to rescue himself.

So they had a plaque made, one that would be hung in a place of pride in every home they lived in. And when Tony and Fiero breathed their last, after a long, satisfying, fulfilling life, one where the joys outweighed the sorrows and the triumphs overshadowed the losses, it was their epitaph, the testament to the strength of their bond and their love.

Out of all the souls in the world,
mine found yours and never looked back.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Shameful Truths

Bureaucracy has its place. Tony Stark knows this, he truly does.

He also knows that most of the time, said place is at the bottom of the ocean, with its feet and hands tied to a 12-ton concrete block to make sure it can’t escape. Because when bureaucracy pokes its nose where it doesn’t belong, life gets unnecessarily complicated and nothing gets done.

Case in point: the Rogue Avengers are currently on house arrest in his Compound while the UN decides what to do with them, an arduous task that has hit five weeks and shows no signs of being resolved anytime soon. In those five weeks, Tony has done some truly impressive gymnastics to keep his mentee/protégé/almost-adopted son Peter Parker away from the group of lying, cheating, murdering, backstabbing thugs because he does not trust them. Full stop. He would trust a career politician to keep a campaign promise before he believed any of them if they said water was wet.

But the best-laid plans yadda yadda yadda meant that Peter arrived at the Compound unexpectedly one Thursday; Tony had forgotten the school was having a teacher workshop, so the kids got a half-day that Thursday and were off Friday. Naturally, Peter headed for his third home, eager to see his mentor/almost-adopted dad.

Because the universe is bored — and, more importantly, FRIDAY is feeling both vindictive and annoyed on her creator’s behalf — she decides to ditch the subtlety that clearly isn’t working and force Tony to finally tell off the bunch of criminals who are still badmouthing Boss while eating him out of house and home as they wait for the UN to decide if charges are going to be levied. He won’t do for it himself, the AI knows; he is too wary of them, now, but he also knows it will do no good. If any member of that group doesn’t want to hear something, they don’t, and they’re even worse when it comes to Tony. So he sees no reason to put himself in a situation that a) requires him to be in their presence and b) will inevitably result in him telling them something they don’t like, ending in c) a migraine, petulant accusations, and at least one broken coffee mug.

When it comes to the people he loves, however, all bets are off. When the group first arrived, he’d punched Barton in the kidney while wearing a gauntlet to pay him back for his unforgivable comment about Rhodey’s injury and even Maximoff isn’t dumb enough to say anything about Pepper.

But none of them know about Peter, a situation Tony is doing his best to maintain.

Has he mentioned the universe hates him?

He is in his lab, elbow-deep in SI’s next project, when he gets an alert from FRIDAY that Peter has arrived and is currently on the Avengers’ floor.

Where the entire team is congregated, because the universe hates Tony.

He breaks three land speed records getting up there and is greeted by the suit he summoned just in case. Since FRIDAY hasn’t said anything about a fight or trouble, he leaves it on sentry mode, takes a deep breath to calm his instinctive fear, and stalks to the door, yanking it open with enough force to bounce it off the opposite wall.

When he sees his son surrounded by a group of angry, suspicious people who are interrogating him without even trying to contact him, his vision goes red and he roughly shoves Barton to one side so he can get to Peter, who is furious and barely keeping himself from webbing the entire team to the ceiling, if the way his fingers are twitching is any indication.

But he is also afraid, though he’s hiding it well, and that pushes Tony over the edge. He doesn’t even bother to acknowledge his former teammates, who have fallen silent at his furious entrance, and gently lays a hand on Peter’s arm.

“Come on, Kid, I have a prototype that’s calling my name.” The tension in his son does not abate, so Tony tries to add a little levity before the kid accidentally reveals his other identity. “Or it could be Pepper; it’s supposed to be in R&D for testing tomorrow. Either way, I’m being summoned and Butterfingers misses you.”

This gets a jerky nod and Peter starts to follow him from the room.

A smart person would see that Tony obviously knows the boy and leave it be, accepting that for now, his questions would remain unanswered.

These are the Rogue Avengers.

“Who’s the kid, Tony? And why does he have clearance to be up here?” Steve demands aggressively, his scowl deepening when Tony and Peter both ignore him. Barton moves to block their exit, only to blink in genuine surprise when Tony simply lifts his hand, a gauntlet forming, and in the sudden silence, the sound of the repulsor charging is a crack of thunder.

“Oh, come on!” the archer snaps, clearly offended. “You seriously think I’d hurt a kid?”

Tony stops dead in his tracks and turns, giving the man an incredulous look. When he sees the same offended expression on everyone else’s face, he scoffs and raises his other hand. A single snap of his fingers results in FRIDAY putting up a family portrait on the giant TV screen, a portrait of three children Barton instantly recognizes, since they are his, and he goes white. This is quickly followed by a collage of pictures. Every one of them is a child, ranging from newborn to just graduated from high school.

There are two shots for each child. One is normal, showing them alive and well. The other confirms their death, often gruesomely. Beside the second picture is their date of birth, date of death, and the name of the Avenger who caused that death.

Horrified silence falls and Tony gives them all a grim smile.

“Yes, Barton. I know every one of you would hurt a kid to get what you want,” he says with icy contempt. “Stay away from mine. If you’re walking down the hall and you see him, you turn around and go somewhere else until he’s past. If he’s on the elevator, you take the stairs. If he walks into a building in Jersey, you go somewhere in Pennsylvania. Because if I see any of you within 100 feet of him, I’m going to assume you’re up to your old tricks and protect him accordingly. If you don’t like that or think you can’t behave that much, you know where the front door is. FRIDAY will make sure it knocks you on your ass on your way out.”

Without another word, he and Peter, who looks grimly satisfied, leave the room with a quiet dignity that none of the Rogues can hope to match, even Romanova.

As the door closes, the pointed silence crushes them beneath the weight of their own culpability and unspoken tension crackles in the air.

It seems like forever before a thin voice, full of shame, whispers, “What have we done?”

The only answer is yet another collage of pictures, a colorful diorama of guilt and culpability that suffocates them with its silent condemnation.

They are gone within a week.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Shatterpoint

The shattering of Steve Rogers came from the most unlikely person anyone could have imagined.

The situation itself was so improbable, even the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj couldn't have predicted it, and that was their main shtick. But the truly astonishing thing? It was 100% self-motivated, yet completely without ego. There were no negotiations, no bargains, no interviews, no contact of any sort. In fact, when Rebel Ralston reached out to the Accords Council by way of his grandson, Renegade (yes, his father's name was Maverick. Yes, his mother had a massive crush on James Garner. Yes, his grandfather thought it was the best name ever. No, the boy refused to go by any nicknames), even the WWII history buffs needed a few minutes to recognize his name.

Naturally, he was granted a meeting.

When he walked into the UN Assembly Room, his grandson at his side and an Army honor guard at his heels, the painfully young, even more painfully inexperienced Aide de Camp to the Accords liaison Air Force general blurted out, "Didn't you die?", and all 315 people in the Council Room froze in sheer mortification. You could have heard a pin drop two or three countries over.

Thankfully for everyone concerned, the startlingly robust Ralston, who was spryer at 94 than a lot of 50-year-olds, grinned, and the entire room caught its breath at the sudden glimpse of the firebrand he'd been in his youth.

"Well, I did a couple of times when I was a kid," he replied, eyes twinkling. "But my ma made me walk it off. Said that in her day, being dead didn't even let you get to sleep late in the morning, so I sure as heck couldn't get out of my chores or eatin' supper."

Never had the generational divide been so apparent. Those present who were over the age of 40 collapsed into laughter, holding their sides and fondly remembering their own childhoods, while the people 39 and younger stared in abject horror, unable to comprehend such a hideous thing.

While a third of the room was undergoing an existential crisis, Ralston stepped past the mentally comatose Aide de Camp and offered General Weston a salute, one that was returned with such deep respect, it silenced the room again.

And then the entire crowd stared at Ralston, who was watching the general, all of them waiting for . . . well. Something.

After about a minute, Weston cleared his throat and said, "Please have a seat, Captain," as he gestured to the chair his hapless aide had been using. Eyes twinkling again, the former Howling Commando sank down and rested his specially-made cane (courtesy of Tony Stark a few years prior) against his thigh, still watching Weston with truly unnerving intensity. Even the people behind the old captain felt nervous, and all they could see was the back of his head. "So . . . well, not to be blunt, but what brings you to us, Captain?" he finally asked, sinking down in his own chair and giving Ralston his full attention.

His humor quickly faded away as he nodded in return and just as bluntly said, "I want to speak to Steve Rogers."

The silence screamed in agony and nobody breathed but Ralston and Weston as they all tried desperately to process that bizarre, out of the blue demand.

Weston was the only exception. He just blinked, then asked, "Other than nostalgia, which I don't think is the case, why? What are you hoping to achieve?"

The old man sighed and slumped in his chair, abruptly looking every day of his 94 years. "Because I know Rogers and I . . . well, to be perfectly honest, General, I despise the little bastard. Most of us did, even back in the day, but I'm the only one left who's physically able to come here."

The silence was shattered by a cacophony of voices, shouting questions and accusations and demanding answers. Weston ignored them all, as did Ralston, and the two of them held eye contact, taking the other man's measure, before Weston slowly nodded.

"Okay," he began carefully, straightening in his chair. "Let's say I can make that happen. What are your intentions?"

Ralston sighed again and tilted his head back, clearly gathering his thoughts, before meeting the general's eyes once more.

"Like I said, I know Rogers, the real Rogers, and I watched all of the trials, so I know that despite the evidence and testimony and the guilty verdict, not only have you not gotten any remorse or regret or an apology, you haven't even gotten an acknowledgement of what he did wrong. And you aren't going to," he began, face darkening with an anger that was alarming for reasons nobody understood. "On his own, Rogers is literally incapable of understanding when he's wrong, and he will let the world burn before he'll change his mind," he explained, bitterness coating his words and bringing the room to an unnatural stillness.

"He won't sacrifice himself, mind. He's too arrogant and full of himself for that," he continued after a few seconds, eyes flaring with an old rage. "But he thinks he's the self-sacrificing sort, or just pretends really well — we never did quite figure out which. Either way, if sacrificing us made Rogers look good, he'd do it without a third thought, and console himself with the notion that there was nothing else he could have done. Him crashing the Valkyrie is an anomaly, but after listening a dozen times to Peg talk about that conversation, it was obvious he did it because he didn't know how to really fly a plane, never mind land one, and Stark wasn't there to talk him through it. More importantly, in his twisted reasoning, jumping would have made him a coward while crashing would save the world and he'd be the hero."

Nobody had been expecting that and another awkward silence filled the room.

"He'll wade first into a fight, of course; there's nothing he loves more than facing four or five opponents at once, but only when he's got that ugly shield. If the odds are fair or against him, he's suddenly got to be somewhere else. When something goes wrong, it's always someone else's fault," the old man added, sighing heavily at the memories. "And he clearly hasn't learned a damn thing or grown up. He's still that bratty, whiny, insubordinate punk we all got saddled with through no fault of our own."

"Wait, what?" one of the Council members blurted, going tomato red when the room collectively turned to look at her. She floundered for a few seconds, but recovered admirably quickly and expounded on her initial thought. "I mean, the Howling Commandos missions are well-documented and the most prominent things are your loyalty to each other and Rogers' tactical genius and battle prowess."

Ralston laughed. It was a bitter sound, one that made everyone flinch, and it held not an ounce of humor.

"Come now," he finally wheezed, his voice as bitter as his laughter. "You've heard of revisionist history; you really think the military is exempt?"

Yet another uncomfortable silence ensued, but Ralston didn't let it linger.

"Well, that's interesting," was his dry observation, making several of the higher ranking officers shift in clear discomfort. "So I guess nobody knows that Phillips initiated a court martial against Rogers after he rescued us, filed the charges, and was literally in the middle of selecting the tribunal when Roosevelt himself told him to stop. Said he understood why the colonel wanted to do it, but he had to wait until the war was officially over. Otherwise, it would do too much damage to morale, both at home and abroad. Man, old Phillips was furious. He stomped around for days and I'm pretty sure he breathed fire a few times."

This silence was stunned, which pulled another bitter laugh from Rogers' old teammate.

"Oh, yeah. Rogers didn't finish a week of boot camp, he had no additional military training after the serum, and he couldn't strategize his way out of a one-door room with no windows. Still can't, apparently. He also refused to do any training to learn how to properly fight or control his strength even after he broke that poor man's jaw — he actually told Colonel Martin that he knew everything he needed to know, because he was a good man, that was why Erskine chose him, and he was strong now so he didn't need any 'remedial help'. And Martin couldn't do a damn thing to him because his presence on the War Bond Circuit had raised so much money that the higher-ups refused to send him elsewhere even for six weeks to train and learn some discipline, but he was too volatile for a formal reprimand. I know about it because I was doing sentry duty for Phillips when Martin called and unloaded on him."

He paused, once more clearly remembering, and snorted in genuine amusement. "I'm still not sure who was madder about that. And then we got captured and Rogers went off half-cocked, ignoring literally everyone who said rescuing us was too high risk, and he still managed to do it. And that tainted us for the rest of the war."

He fell quiet for a while, leaving a puzzled crowd to watch him, before one brave lieutenant piped up.

"What do you mean? Your unit had one of the highest success rates," he said hesitantly, and shrank back when Ralston focused on him to reply.

"You're half-right, son," he replied, leaning back in his chair and waving his grandson off after accepting a glass of water. "But the only reason for our success is that Phillips realized three missions in that Rogers wasn't just an arrogant, egotistical idiot, he was an ignorant one, too. He flat-out ignored any and all plans or strategies he didn't come up with, only he doesn't know how to strategize, and he nearly got the Secretary of War's youngest son killed because he decided he knew better than the people who'd been watching the camp for three weeks and had all the information about troop numbers, deployment, camp layout, and so forth. Dum Dum managed to salvage that one by the skin of his teeth — literally — but that was when Phillips changed our designation from Recon and Rescue to Clean-up. He had no choice."

Once again, shock permeated the room, but it was ignored.

"Rogers wasn't our unit commander, Dugan was, and Barnes and I were his sergeants. He got his orders from Phillips and the three of us would come up with strategies, share them with the rest of the unit, and then go to Rogers and only give him the information that was most likely to make him decide on our preferred course of action. I know that sounds bad," he admitted, giving Weston a rueful look mingled with defiance, "but if we told him everything, he'd get overwhelmed. Only, instead of asking for suggestions or help, he'd just declare that we'd take down the front door, no matter how impractical or suicidal that was. Nobody could tell him anything, except Barnes sometimes, and that was only because he was Rogers' favorite and got preferential treatment he hated and we couldn't hold against him. Not once we realized what Rogers really was. And then we ran face-first into the knowledge of how badly Rogers screwed all of us over," he finished, once more sounding bitter, and Weston blinked several times, clearly trying to process that.

"I . . . I don't understand. How . . .?" he asked carefully, sounding befuddled, and got an unhappy smile in response.

"Because he came to rescue us — well, he came for Barnes, but since he was in the deepest part of the building and Rogers had to kick open every door to see who was in there, the rest of us got out by default," the old soldier explained, sounding very tired suddenly, and took a long drink of his water before continuing. "But he defied everyone's orders to do it, risked Howard Stark's life, and not only wasn't remotely apologetic afterwards, he gloated. To everyone. He was honestly shocked that Phillips was upset, and Martin just about blew a gasket, because Rogers abandoned his post on the Bond Circuit to go play hero. But word spread, you see, and other units didn't want any of us because Rogers had proven to be completely unmanageable and even more insubordinate — and he was listed as our Unit Leader by mistake. It wasn't remotely true, but gossip spreads like wildfire in the military. And the rest of the Army didn't have any way of knowing that was wrong, even after it was corrected, so the other units were understandably concerned that his insubordination and lack of discipline had infected the Commandos. Phillips tried to defend us, but he was our CO, so he was hardly going to admit he had that kind of problem with his men, which, again, was wrong, but understandable."

This time, he drained the glass before heaving a deep sigh. "But we were all healthy and able to fight, so we couldn't be sent home for medical reasons. Since we had to stay and fight and nobody else would take us, we had no choice but to stay together. The one time a few of us tried to split off into our own, smaller team, Rogers threw a tantrum so bad, he destroyed the mess tent. So we bit the bullet and made the necessary arrangements. We had to let Rogers think he was in charge so he didn't ruin weeks of planning and only went on missions that didn't involve anything but beating up enemy squads, with the occasional ambush if Dum Dum thought he could keep the moron on track."

His grandson handed him a fresh glass of water and he murmured a quiet 'thanks', taking a few sips before adding, "And getting him to do anything else? If he wasn't punching something, he wasn't interested. Mission reports, supply requisitions, training as a unit, even our letters home . . . he was gung-ho to be our 'leader', but only when it was something he wanted to do. And the only thing he wanted to do was fight. That was bad enough, but we figured out real quick that he also wouldn't consider any plan that didn't have him being the front man, the main man, the guy leading the charge. I have never seen anyone as egotistical as Rogers, and I'm including Hitler in that," he sneered, disgust dripping off every word now and making everyone flinch. That was a truly nasty comparison, but it held an unmistakable ring of truth.

Still, quite a few people were audibly appalled and Ralston sighed, dropping his chin and staring at the floor, clearly gathering his thoughts.

"I can hear the horror," he began, his voice gentle now, and once more getting the room's absolute attention. "And I understand it. But I didn't say Rogers was as evil as Hitler. I said he was more egotistical, which is not remotely the same thing. To put that in my perspective, Hitler deliberately murdered six million Jews over the course of nearly four years because he genuinely believed that they were responsible for Germany losing World War I, as well as its downfall and suffering after. Rogers murdered more than half a million people in an hour by dropping three massively oversized aircraft on the Potomac simply because he would not stop for thirty seconds and think — about anything. He never once even registered their presence."

He stopped to take several deep breaths, clearly upset, while people shifted and swallowed and squirmed in discomfort at having someone who wasn't Tony Stark say it out loud. Finally, after more than a minute of dead silence, Ralston sniffed hard and continued, his body rigid and his eyes cold. "He refused to ask for help from the one man who could have prevented virtually all of the destruction and most of the deaths, and when someone finally asked him about it at his trial, Rogers blinked in genuine confusion at being told he was responsible for all those lost lives and devastation and said, with absolute conviction, that collateral damage is unavoidable and he saved everyone he could, but he couldn't save everyone and more would have died if he hadn't done what he did. It's his go-to excuse and has been as long as I've known him."

Silence.

"So, yes, in my mind, Rogers is more egotistical and a bigger narcissist than Hitler," he told the room at large with an unhappy smile twisting his mouth. Across from him, Weston blew out a hard breath of his own but said nothing and nothing of his thoughts showed on his face or eyes, while the entire room watched the old Army captain as he ruminated over memories both old and new.

"And because that wasn't dangerous enough, if Rogers thought he was being denied the chance to 'be the hero', he threw tantrums and sulked and was unbearable to deal with," Ralston finally continued, rolling the glass between his palms and still staring at the floor. "We finally had to give up and started planning that, too: giving him an attack plan that had him barreling in the front gate, shield flying, with a couple of snipers backing him up and the rest of us following him. Only, most of us were going in through a different door or window while we let him serve as the distraction. If nothing else, the serum made it hard to really hurt him and that damn shield is lethal, so he had a good chance of surviving, especially with snipers on his six. And since brute force was useful for the clean-up ops we ran, it worked and our success rate was high. But it was a false positive and we only ran missions with Rogers for about five months before we lost Barnes and he went off the deep end. Poor bastard wasn't Rogers' friend, despite what most people thought; Rogers doesn't know how to be a friend. No, Barnes was his security blanket and the only person who could halfway keep him under control," he said, clearly feeling sorry for the fallen soldier, and quite a few people nodded. The entire world had seen just what Steve Rogers would do when he thought James Barnes was in trouble, but they had also seen that Rogers didn't give a damn what Barnes actually thought about it.

When he was finally freed from the Winter Soldier's triggers, he'd repudiated Rogers so hard and so brutally, even Loki had been impressed.

To this day, Rogers refused to believe it.

Hence, the reason for Rebel Ralston's request.

"Honestly, when Rogers went after the Red Skull, it was because he was expecting to beat him up and force him to use his magic glowing blue cube to bring Barnes back; it never occurred to him that he'd lose that fight. And like I said, he crashed the plane because he didn't know how to properly fly it, not because he wanted to die. But he was going down as a martyr, which satisfied his incessant need to be the hero," Ralston finished derisively, eyes dark with an old, unresolved anger that was very disquieting.

This time, the silence was long and heavy. No one wanted to break it, not even the experienced officers, and Ralston finally did it himself.

"And that's exactly why I want to talk to him: because I'm a part of his past and someone he considers as his eq—well, not equal. He doesn't have 'equals'. But I'm the closest thing to a peer he'll recognize," he told the general, meeting his gaze steadily. "Right now, he's in prison, which is good because he can't hurt anyone else. But justice still isn't being served, because it's not really a punishment for him. He thinks he's a martyr, fighting 'The Man', so all the people he hurt and killed in his quest to be The Hero aren't importa—no, that's not — that isn't how he thinks. Not really. In his mind, they're necessary sacrifices on his way to greatness. And that's not right. It's not justice," he snapped, eyes snapping with fury now.

"I think we all know that there's nothing anyone else can say that will get through to him. He — well, like I said, he's never wrong. It's never his fault no matter what, and anyone who disagrees with him or argues with him is a bully or a Nazi or HYDRA. God, we got so sick of hearing that," he muttered to himself, glowering at yet another memory. "Morita once got into an argument with a nun about the existence of God. It was still a more productive conversation than trying to tell Steve Rogers something he didn't want to hear."

Several people had to fight down amused snickers at that, including Weston, though he hid it well.

"Okay," he said slowly, eyebrows drawing together. "So what makes you think you'll be successful?"

Ralston leaned back, giving the other man an approving look, and said, "Well, you also have to know, really know, that Rogers has zero respect for authority. Any authority. He thinks that he knows better about everything, no matter what, and if you call him on it, he'll pompously inform you that book learning isn't everything. He also genuinely thinks he's an Army captain and that he deserves all the respect and accolades that goes with that rank. So anyone who's tried talking to him from a position of authority was summarily ignored, I would imagine. Or scoffed at."

Once again, several people nodded, this time with scowls at the recollection, and Ralston snorted before providing an insight that surprised more than a few people.

"If that wasn't enough, there's an understandable misconception that all of this Accords nonsense and fighting was about Barnes. It wasn't, at least not the way people are assuming," he said candidly, and the room sucked in a stunned breath. "It was Rogers lashing out at the thought of oversight — remember, he resented anyone who was in charge of him. Still does, obviously, and he still has zero respect for authority. Even now, in a world he has no hope of understanding without a ton of in-depth study, he's the only person who knows how to do anything and if it's something he doesn't know, he still knows better than anyone who says differently. Which explains why he despises Tony Stark. When he was working with SHIELD, I can guarantee the Black Widow ran at least one side mission on every assignment, which Rogers didn't know about at the time, and every time he got snotty about her going off-script, she'd say something about how good his fighting skills are or how amazing his plan was. Stroking his ego is the best way to get him to consider cooperating, but that still has pretty hard limits."

A lot of people also nodded to that, having witnessed it firsthand, and Ralston took another drink.

"So he threw a tantrum over the Accords because he's Captain America and he's the only person for the job. Don't believe me, just ask him." This was said so derisively, all 315 listeners collectively flinched. "But the other reason is that he . . . you see, Barnes was his best friend, his brother — so he claimed. I have no idea what he and Barnes were like before the war and the serum, but by the time I met him, Barnes didn't consider him a friend anymore — well, no, that's not quite right. Barnes still liked him, or maybe that was just the memory of when they were kids, but he didn't trust Rogers to do the best thing for anyone but him. Rogers, on the other hand, didn't have anyone except Barnes, so he never stopped beating his gums about the 'deep, blood brothers' bond he insisted they shared. Only that was a straight-up lie, too. He considered Barnes a security blanket, the only thing in his life that thought he was worth something before the serum, which meant Barnes had to go pretty much everywhere Rogers went. And, unfortunately for Barnes, that lie about 'blood brothers' spread to both sides, which — in a huge feat of irony that I wouldn't wish on anyone — kept him safe in a way the rest of us didn't get. Until it didn't."

Ralston paused to take a few sips while his enthralled audience considered everything they'd just heard and seeing how perfectly it fit into Rogers' personality and how many things it explained, before Ralston resumed speaking.

"Naturally, he spiraled out of control when Barnes went off that train, and he also never completely accepted his death; like I said, he went after the Tesseract because he decided it could get Barnes back. And that's the real problem: Rogers cannot adapt to change. Anyone who's seen battle or watched a football game knows that the plan never survives the first encounter with the enemy."

This got murmurs of agreement all around the room, but no one actually spoke and Ralston kept going, his whole posture full of contempt.

"He literally cannot grasp that reality, and he can't shift to accommodate. Even when the front door has been fortified against a super soldier and there's literally no way to break it down, he won't alter his course. He'll throw himself bodily against an unbreakable or impassable obstacle and beat himself senseless before admitting he needs to try a different entrance. So waking up 70 years in the future was shocking and traumatizing, and I can't imagine how difficult it was. God knows I would have been in denial at first, and so would anyone else. But I also know that Rogers refused to learn anything about this time. He didn't want to be here, so he decided to act like 'here' was really 'there' and any attempts to teach him otherwise were violently rejected. Then, when he realized Barnes was alive, well, that was his past. It was something that hadn't changed, you see. He would have reacted the same if had been any of the Howlies; maybe not quite as destructively, because Barnes is his favorite, but if it let him cling to his past instead of facing his present, he would destroy the world instead of acknowledging he couldn't change reality and the past was gone, it was time to accept the here and now. Remember: he can't be wrong."

This silence was thoughtful as a huge number of people found that a lot of things about Steve Rogers suddenly made sense, and it took close to five minutes before Weston broke it.

"So . . . you talking to him will . . ." he said delicately, trailing off to allow Ralston to fill in the blanks. They'd all just learned a valuable lesson about assumptions.

"I am the only living person he might — might — listen to, at least for a few minutes," he said with a frank honesty that was very uncomfortable to hear. "And yes, I'm including Barnes in that. Somewhere along the way, Barnes became the ultimate expression of The Perfect Past, so anything he says that Rogers doesn't want to hear will bounce off his forehead. It won't even go in one ear and out the other; it just won't register at all. But Rogers doesn't know I'm still alive, which will shock him enough to create a chink in that self-righteous armor. It won't last, and I honestly don't know how much impact I'll have, but if you want him to realize that he screwed up, it's me or no one. Morita's the only other one of us left and his dementia is reaching the final stage."

"Hmm," Weston murmured, absently standing to pace as he clearly assimilated everything he'd just learned. Ralston let him, leaning back and waiting patiently for a decision to be made. Even as frail as he now was, his indomitable spirit shone through and a lot of the younger military found themselves rethinking a great many things as they saw firsthand the difference between the walking, talking hero that Rebel Ralston was and that Steve Rogers pretended to be.

It didn't take long for Weston to make a decision and he sat back down, looking the old captain straight in the eyes. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you for coming here today and telling us some truths that we would never have known otherwise. It might have been a simple decision, but I doubt it was an easy one and I cannot express my respect for you, or my gratitude for your courage, and my awe at your strength."

He paused and the entire room held its breath.

"I'll take you to him," he stated, not even blinking. "You deserve to speak your mind and heart and by God, you will get the chance."

Unsurprisingly, the room exploded, with everyone and their third cousin twice removed expressing an opinion on the general's decision.

But showing the caliber of men they were, neither Weston nor Ralston noticed. They were simply watching the other, sharing a special kind of communication that could only be found among born and bred military personnel. After perhaps four minutes, Ralston gave the general a small smile and received a nod in response before Weston got to his feet and swiftly made his way to the Accords Council, who weren't screaming like everyone else but were, to a man, extremely ticked off at having their authority usurped. Weston's . . . conference . . . with the group lasted all of three minutes, to most people's surprise.

(despite their burning curiosity, nobody was quite brave enough to actually watch that tape and hear what had been said, which was yet another testament to the respect accorded to both men)

It ended with him snapping a salute to the Council President and making his way back to Ralston, eyes calm and demeanor satisfied.

"You're set," he told the other man, offering a hand to help him up. "I'll make the arrangements and take you to see Rogers in two days."

Ralston nodded in return, tension that few people had noticed draining from his shoulders. Weston was wise enough not to offer to pay for his accommodations or upgrade him. He simply traded contact info with Renegade and then stood at attention, his complete focus on the two men as they made their way out of the room, both men tall, straight-backed, and proud.

Once they were safely gone, Weston turned back to the room and, in that arcane way a really good leader learns, summoned every member of the military to him without saying a word or making a single gesture. Once he was surrounded, he blew out a deep sigh and then made a point of meeting the eyes of every single person who had sworn their service to their country.

"That, people, is the pinnacle of greatness. That man is who we should all aspire to be."

Rebel Ralston would never know how much impact he had that day, and those who were present would never be able to articulate just what had changed for them, and why.

But they never forgot.

~~~

Rebel blew out a deep sigh as Weston escorted him down the hall, one clearly built for the sole purpose of keeping Steve Rogers in prison. The security measures were insane, and Ralston had been stationed at Fort Knox, the Pentagon, and the White House. He'd been one of the men who'd helped recover and return the art stolen by the Nazis. He'd actually earned the terrible privilege of being at Los Alamos for the last two months of that project.

In other words, when it came to security, he was hard to impress and impossible to awe.

But given that these measures were put in place for Rogers, he couldn't say anyone was overreacting — though it would be fun to watch the arrogant bastard try to break out. Whoever had designed this clearly knew Rogers very well, and had just as clearly been pissed off when the plans were finalized.

And just in case, Ralston was also being guarded, albeit at a distance, by the most impressive mixed squad of armed forces he was sure the world had ever seen. After he'd shut down Weston's intention to have an Avenger serve as escort and guard — the chance that Rogers would recognize an old teammate was too great and if he did, all his attention would be focused on that instead of possibly hearing what Ralston needed to tell him — he'd insisted that an elite military team would be the best option and Weston had agreed.

But then something odd had happened.

The military tendency for gossip to spread like wildfire had taken effect and word spread to the soldiers outside the UN Assembly Room that day — all of the enlisted soldiers, in every branch and stationed on every continent — and, apparently, members of every elite squad had begun fighting to be included. When Weston heard about it, he stared in wonder at the messenger for a while, then sighed and announced that only twelve people would be needed, and they must have a minimum of three years' experience after graduating their advanced training to be considered. That done, he reasonably assumed the problem was solved.

He would rue his naïveté for weeks.

Because when the qualifications were made public, the world's fastest competition was set up, with the sole prize being one of the honor guards for Captain Rebel Ralston.

Rebel had laughed himself sick when he'd heard. Weston had taken half a bottle of Advil and longingly eyed the bottle of 18-year-old Macallan scotch on his desk (and if he'd secretly envied the people young enough to participate, well . . . yeah).

The general led Ralston into the waiting room, escorted by the team of twelve who split off at predetermined points, ensuring that even if a catastrophe occurred and Rogers escaped the meeting room, he wouldn't make it to the end of the hall. Ralston, being familiar with military efficiency, was pleasantly surprised to see it was laid out to his specifications. Weston beamed with pride and no small amount of relief when the captain nodded his approval and slipped out the door just as they heard footsteps turning the last corner. Two minutes later, Rebel Ralston laid eyes on Steve Rogers for the first time in 73 years.

It took entirely too much discipline to keep from spitting in that blandly-perfect face.

However, seeing that Rogers wasn't just handcuffed and shackled at his ankles, but was also wearing an honest-to-God muzzle, soothed something in Ralston that had been quietly aching for seven decades, though he hadn't realized it hurt until the man had been resurrected and promptly showed that he hadn't learned a damn thing — not from dying and not from being gifted with a second chance that he squandered. The taste of ashes still hadn't faded from Ralston's mouth at the injustice of seeing such beneficence squandered on such an undeserving person and he took a second look at the man, seeing the insult so cleverly entwined with the security. Rogers was being treated less like a dangerous war criminal and international terrorist and more like the bratty child he really was, albeit one who was unnaturally strong and lacking a child's basic grasp of right and wrong. The only thing missing was the Dunce cap, and Ralston allowed himself one minute, sixty blessed seconds, to enjoy it before focusing on Rogers himself.

So he saw the exact second the man recognized him.

Disbelief was the foremost emotion, followed quickly by confusion, which were both perfectly understandable.

But then hope overshadowed everything and Ralston didn't even bother trying not to roll his eyes. Typical Rogers: always expecting someone else to get him out of trouble.

It was a good thing he couldn't talk or Ralston might well punch him in his perfect mouth and he was just too old for that kind of tomfoolery, no matter how enjoyable it would be.

Also, he had no desire to break his hand, especially not on account of Steve Rogers.

Instead, he leaned back and raked the man with a scathing, contemptuous look that went right over his head and thus was utterly wasted. This wasn't a surprise, but it was irritating and he didn't hold back his annoyed sigh, either. Bewilderment was now competing with hope in that bright blue gaze and he sighed again, reality dousing his sole, tiny ember of hope that the man had learned something, anything, in the two months he'd been in prison.

So be it. He didn't want to monologue, anyway. He wasn't William Shakespeare and this wasn't Othello.

"You know," he said, shattering the silence and making Rogers start in surprise. Ralston refused to feel guilty for enjoying that, too. "I watched the ULTRON trials live, a few years ago. I saw what Doctor Stark was trying to do, to achieve, and studied the methods he used — yes, Rogers, I know a lot about programming and computers. You see, they're a huge part of the world, so even though I'm not fond of them, refusing to learn would have just been stupid. But I know you, how much you despise feeling stupid, but I also know how lazy you are and how much you hate learning anything new or that you just don't like, so your obvious — and insulting — ignorance of all things technical wasn't a surprise to me."

Hurt flared in those baby blue eyes and Ralston scoffed, laying both arms flat on the table and leaning forward, pinning Rogers with a specific gaze he'd learned in the Army and perfected on his children. A bomb could destroy the room and the dipshit wouldn't be able to pull his eyes away from Rebel.

"Yes, Rogers," he confirmed, tilting his chin down. "You won't believe this and I know it, but I'm still gonna say it so you can't claim you didn't know: the Howlies weren't yours. We weren't your men, we weren't your team, and we weren't your friends. I'm not actually sure, thinking back, that many of us even liked you as a person. I sure as hell didn't and neither did Dum Dum or Gabe or Morita. You were a spoiled brat from Day One and your arrogant, egotistical selfishness would have ruined all of our careers if you hadn't done your swan dive. But that's not why I'm here," he finished firmly, watching closely as the hurt deepened before it was joined by disbelief and then denial. Rogers shook his blond head in adamant refusal of Ralston's words, but that muzzle was a miracle of design and didn't allow a hint of sound to escape.

Good. That meant Rebel could say what he needed to and maybe even some things he wanted to, and wouldn't have to worry about interruptions. Rogers couldn't talk, stand up, or even move his hands, which was perfect . . . but if he kept shaking his head like that, he was liable to scramble his brains.

Then again, it was doubtful anyone would notice a difference, so Ralston ignored it and returned to his original point.

"You see, I also watched the interviews you and your 'team' gave during and after the UN's investigation of Stark — and I'm willing to bet you didn't know he was investigated, did you? You decided he was guilty right off the bat and took an obscene amount of joy in running your mouth and trashing him, throwing him under the bus, and just being a shitty person and a worse teammate and leader. I wish that had surprised me, but . . . well, I saw you first become Captain America and I've been watching you strut around again since 2012, and it didn't take long to realize you haven't changed one single bit. You haven't grown up, you haven't matured, you haven't learned a damn thing, and you haven't left 1944. You, Steve Rogers, are still the same arrogant ass who ignored orders, endangered one of the most vital men of the war effort, thinks anyone who disagrees with you or questions you is a bully, and destroyed the reputation of two dozen men whose only crime was being part of James Barnes' unit so you could play 'The Hero'," he sneered, looking down his nose at the brat even though he was a few inches shorter.

Once more, confusion filled Rogers' eyes, but Ralston didn't bother to explain. There was no point, even if he was in the mood, and this wasn't a conversation. Ralston was here for the sole purpose of cracking that foundation of self-righteous justification, and both experience and observation had taught him that he was best served by accusing Rogers of being what he boldly proclaimed to hate the most: a bully.

Now, the thing was, Ralston knew full well he wasn't the first to do so, and few of the accusations had likely bothered the brat. He saw himself as the Pinnacle of Man, the Great Arbitrator of Justice, a Giant Among Men. So it would have taken little effort to convince himself his accuser was wrong or projecting or really meant someone else (probably Stark, given the available evidence, but anyone who was smarter or more important or just took attention away from Rogers would have been a target).

Ralston, though, had a secret weapon: he knew the man behind the legend, and knew how misleading — oh, misleading, hell. He knew exactly how much of the Captain America propaganda was lies and he was equally aware of the fallacy behind the legend of Steve Rogers.

Not that he would say any of that; it would fall on deaf ears, because it always had. But using the shock of his presence to go after the Goodness and Righteousness of Captain America, with irrefutable evidence, would prick those lingering insecurities and, if Ralston used the right words, he might be able to create a permanent crack in that foundation, which was his goal. He cared nothing for making Rogers cry or apologize or even realize he was wrong, because none of those things were going to happen. Not for a while at least, even if Ralston was successful.

He just needed to know that he had succeeded in forming that first permanent fissure, however small it was.

So, keeping his eyes fixed on Rogers', he struck the initial blow.

Thor would have been impressed.

"I listened to you rail about Stark playing with things he doesn't understand, while standing in a tower he designed and built to run off technology you don't know how to spell, much less how it works, and rely on the Artificial Intelligence that runs the building, never mind his money and generosity. You are so stupid that you were quite literally surrounded by evidence of the man's genius, brilliance, and talents while denouncing him and shoving all the blame on him, even when the investigation showed otherwise. The entire world saw your pet HYDRA witch fuck with Stark's head. They saw him and that coward Banner scrap the ULTRON idea almost a year earlier, and they saw his fear and how unsettled it made him after the witch got to him. They saw you order him and Banner to study the scepter and Thor agree with your decision."

He paused, panting a little with anger, which only flared higher when stubborn intransigence filled Rogers' eyes and he firmly shook his head again. His denial was clear as day, despite his inability to verbally communicate, and Ralston scoffed derisively.

"Yeah, I know you refuse to believe that. You always have. You hate anyone smarter than you and better than you at something, unless they somehow manage to find that magic spot on your 'favorite' list. It's why you didn't mind Barnes being a better sniper than you but resented Koening and Falsworth. But the thing is, Rogers, you completely fail to see the irony: you crucified Tony Stark for creating ULTRON, which he did not do. But you're too ignorant to understand that you are ULTRON. Howard Stark and Erskine created you to be mankind's ultimate protector and they gifted you with everything you didn't have. Strength, speed, muscle, height, endurance . . . the only thing they couldn't give you was intelligence, but nobody considered your weakness for power and the pathetic, desperate desire to belong, to be special. They never thought about the blind ego behind your self-righteousness and your subsequent refusal to learn anything that you don't think is important. And it didn't take a year for that corruption to take root and finish turning you into the very thing you had sworn to destroy: a tyrannical, arrogant bully."

Breathing heavily now from the force of his emotions, Ralston sat back and watched as Rogers' entire body filled with horror even as he frantically shook his head, denial blowing his pupils wide.

He had wounded his prey.

Good.

Hunching his shoulders just a bit, Ralston leaned forward again and narrowed his eyes, refusing to let the other man blink, and snarled, "You spit on every gift and opportunity you were given and blithely destroyed everything you touched. Phillips sent you off to the Bond Circuit because he knew you couldn't be trusted the second you chased that HYDRA agent to death instead of letting the people who were trained in recovery and restraint handle it. He'd been wary before, seeing how poorly you handled everything about military life, but Erskine had the final say in his project and you were his ultimate revenge. You're so arrogant, you haven't even realized that," he jeered, feeling vicious satisfaction flood him at the horrified realization that slammed into that stubborn brain.

The fissure had formed.

"Erskine fixed on you because you were a sick, incapable weakling with blonde hair and blue eyes. Hitler killed his entire family, so he decided to get his revenge by using the Nazi personification of the perfect man. You were supposed to avenge him and his family and people and protect America's soldiers, but you did the exact opposite. You damaged your country and our reputation in ways the Nazis couldn't have dreamed under the banner of Captain America. Heil, Hitler!" he snarled venomously, watching with cold satisfaction as Rogers jerked so hard in frantic denial that he nearly toppled his chair.

Without conscious thought, Ralston's lips curved in a venomous smile.

His prey was bleeding.

Old hunting instincts sprang to life and he pounced.

"You literally wrecked everything you touched. Thanks to your heavy-handed blundering, none of us could transfer to a different unit, because nobody could trust us after we'd been exposed to your 'leadership'. You never learned anything, no matter who tried to teach you or how badly you fucked something up, so Phillips couldn't let the rest of us utilize our abilities to be a search and rescue unit, or even one who could do recon and set up ambushes; no, we had you! The human tank, who refused to do anything but punch his way into and out of a problem, no matter how ineffective it was, but also refused to let other people take the lead, because if they succeeded, then you couldn't be The Hero! So you screwed us over and blew or ruined so many missions because you honestly think you know best about everything and when it invariably went to hell, it was our fault for not blindly following the great Captain America!"

Rogers' eyes were so wide, he looked like a cartoon character and the maelstrom of emotions was clearly overwhelming him.

Ralston felt no satisfaction at this, but he didn't ease up the pressure on that single, tiny weak spot.

"I just can't help but admire the irony: you, so boldly and arrogantly condemning Tony Stark for your own creation — and if that isn't enough, Sokovia's ULTRON is your second iteration. Of course, we have your standard justification that 'more people would have died if we hadn't been there', because you are, in fact, stupid enough, arrogant enough, to believe that," he continued, so disgusted the guards in the hall flinched.

"The fact that people don't die when it's just Tony Stark or James Rhodes running missions doesn't count, any more than it did when it was Dum Dum and Gabe, because that's just luck, right? You're the Man with a Plan, the only one with the skills and knowledge to make decisions. And when things go wrong, like they did with Flanders and Liège and ULTRON and Lagos, well, it would have been worse without you, so those dead people's families need to be grateful for your omniscience. Right?" he sneered, clenching his fists when Rogers nodded vigorously. As usual, he had completely missed the blatant meaning, never mind the subtext.

So Ralston explained it further, because he was really pissed off now.

"You see, I did my research, so I know that in Lagos, you either completely ignored or were genuinely unaware of the fact that Rumlow's established MO was unobtrusive theft and disappearance. He never blew anything up or caused mass panic or destruction the same day he stole something; hell, most of the time, it took a few days for anyone to realize what he'd stolen. So if you hadn't been there, nobody would have been killed. But hey, you're the Man with the Plan and the safest hands are yours, so their families should be honored that your hands kept them so safe they died."

Being unable to speak or even turn away was taking its toll and Rogers was fighting his restraints so hard, Ralston was absently concerned he might break something. He decided to release the other man from his gaze and ignored the flailing after a few minutes with no signs of the restraints weakening; Stark had done an excellent job.

A brutal head jerk accidentally brought Rogers' eyes back to Ralston's and he instantly caught that desperate blue gaze again, saw the tsunami of denial threatening to drown his prey, and smiled.

Denial was swamped by terror, and he couldn't help it.

He laughed.

"So there you have it," he told the man, voice dripping with contempt. "The destroyer of the world, twice over. I guess we just need to be grateful that you're so incompetent you failed both times. The legend of the Howlies was all us and we didn't even get that until after you died. While you were doing a fantastic impression of a bull in a China shop and we cleaned up your messes, because you sure as hell couldn't be bothered, everyone else either pitied us or sneered at us. Your name only got attached to our successes because the higher-ups decided that since they couldn't court martial you because you were dead, they might as well get something out of Project Insight, so the propaganda was born in an effort to boost enlistment. It worked for a while, too, God help us all. And yeah, I know that SHIELD, or HYRDA, didn't try to educate you when you woke up a few years ago, because they needed a puppet. But you didn't bother to do it yourself because you still know everything, even seven decades later. Instead of learning, you did what you do best: destroy. And then someone was stupid enough to put you in charge of the Avengers, who had the potential to save the world — or be so destructive, Oppenheimer would be terrified."

Ralston paused, seeing the truth finally start to overtake the denial, and laughed again. Even to his ears, it sounded cruel, but it had the desired effect: Rogers quit trying to escape. He went so still, in fact, that sculptors the world over suddenly had an intense desire to start carving a marble statue: Man Caught in Self-Made Trap.

His own dark humor was a touch surprising, though it probably shouldn't have been.

"You, Rogers, you are ULTRON. The first time, you used your own body to destroy. There were no limits and you never hesitated to kill innocent people if they were between you and your goal, wreck their homes, ruin their plans . . . hell, you were gleeful about it, because you were finally big enough and strong enough to hurt the people who'd 'wronged' you and anyone who was in your way, well, it just sucked to be them. Collateral damage is unavoidable, after all, and besides, they were in your way so they were opposing you, and that meant they deserved it. Gah! You were nothing but a disgrace and you dragged us down with you. You know, Phillips gained a decade of age and we actually drank to celebrate when you took that plane down, because we were rid of you and finally had a chance to get our names and reputations back."

He paused there for two heartbeats, watching closely, and mentally nodded in satisfaction when the blond bastard flinched. It was subtle, to be sure, but there. Something that looked like shame was growing behind the horror and Rebel was suddenly so grateful to see it, he could have cried. But he was almost done, had almost said everything he needed to say, so he took a deep breath and braced himself to strike the fatal blow.

"Then you get a second chance, because God has strange ideas sometimes, and you fucked it up so spectacularly, I doubt we'll ever know the full ramifications," he said derisively. "Exposing all those agents, their families, America's secrets, her plans, her goals . . . and you don't have the native intelligence to even realize what you did. You are so arrogant and so unutterably stupid that you still think dropping the entirety of two secret organizations online for the entire world to see wasn't just a good idea, but effective. You completely ignored the fact that you then spent the next year chasing HYRDA because your dumbass plan didn't destroy it — see!," he interrupted himself, frustrated and furious at the stubborn pigheadedness that he knew so well.

"You're doing it right now! I am laying this out for you in terms even you can understand and you're refusing to accept that. You'll destroy the world before you'll be wrong, and you have! Over and over and over, you wreak mass destruction and that's the truly terrifying part of this whole thing: you honestly have no concept of the consequences your actions. You did it, so it was the right thing to do. And then, due entirely to your need to be The Hero, you did everything but actually push the button to create a second ULTRON. Oh, yes," he confirmed, relishing the frantic denial now clouding Rogers' eyes.

"That was all you, because you resented Tony Stark for being smarter than you, more important than you, and a much better leader. You had to punish him, put him down, make sure he understood that he's inferior to Captain America. So you created another ULTRON to demonstrate your superiority. And when it tried to destroy the world at your behest, you got to show off when you defeated it. 'Do you see, world? I, Captain America, am protecting you! I'm The Hero! Tony Stark is the Villain'. But you aren't," he said softly, dangerously, when he saw defiance rising again in that blue gaze, though it was heavily shadowed by fear.

"Because, see, absolute power corrupts absolutely. And you, Rogers, you are corrupt to your core. Good becomes great, right? But the other side of that coin is that 'bad becomes worse'. You might have had some good in you, you arrogant bastard, but you never gave it a chance. You were so desperate to be important, to matter, that you rotted from the inside out. "

The sob that swelled Rogers' throat was so big that the other man could see it catch on his Adam's apple and his eyes were black with horror.

Ralston took that vulnerable throat in his teeth and relished the sight of his prey's fear-laced defeat.

"You're a traitor, Rogers, and you're proud of it," he hissed. "You betrayed everything you claim to stand for when you refused to accept the world you're in now and chose to protect your perfect past — HYDRA's pet assassin — over the entire world, and you did it again when you picked the HYDRA mind-rapist at the cost of your strongest teammate and supporter. You deliberately, maliciously, betrayed Howard Stark and Abraham Erskine, the men who made you Captain America, by protecting the corrupt agency that murdered them and then, just to make sure we all understood just how twisted you are, how immoral, you tried to murder Howard's son to justify your treason. And just like the robot version of ULTRON you helped create and then unleashed on the world because you know you're inadequate as Steve Rogers and you needed to be The Hero again, you turned on your own creators and tried your damnedest to lay waste to everything they held dear. Modern-day ULTRON learned from the best, after all. Captain America," he jeered, the raw power of the rage in his voice leaving divots in the indestructible floor. "That's a joke, and a lie you don't deserve to claim. Howard Stark's ULTRON. That's all you are, and that's all you've ever been."

Rogers shook his head so hard in panicked denial that a normal person would have given themselves whiplash and his eyes were suddenly gleaming with telltale wetness. Ralston couldn't care less. He was relentless as he cut off the air to his helpless quarry.

"He'd be ashamed if he were here now. Erskine would invent a counter to that damn serum on the spot. Even Carter would be appalled and she had worse morals than a common gutter thief. We played nice because we had to, but you never had the Howlies and we openly forsook you the second we could. You are nothing outside the propaganda you got as a posthumous pity prize. Nobody mourned you, Rogers, and no one missed you. And now? Nobody's mourning you. No one misses you. Nobody wants you to save them and no one is worried about the world ending because you're gone. In fact, everybody — the entire planet, Rogers — feels safe and assured in the knowledge that you're gone and Tony Stark and his team are making preparations."

Rogers flinched, looking almost desolate now, and Ralston didn't feel one iota of sympathy. Nor did he feel satisfaction at finally seeing the arrogant ass being brought down a peg. He was too upset and too passionate about hammering home at least one spike of reason.

"They trust him because he talks to them. He listens to them. He values them, Rogers, because they're people and people should be valued," he explained, mercilessly stripping away every last vestige of justification the dick was still clinging to. "He doesn't need or want to be The Hero and he doesn't care who gets the credit, so long as people are safe and their homes and jobs and families are protected. The world might love to hate him, but it trusts him, Rogers. See, we know that if — when — we have to give him Oppenheimer's bomb, he won't use it unless there's no other choice, and we know he'll make damn sure we're his first priority before he blows our enemy to hell with it."

One final pause and his jaws came together on that open, defenseless throat as Rogers bowed his head. Forced into a position where he could literally do nothing but listen, where he couldn't hear himself justifying his actions and use his natural charisma to convince others of it as well, was more than even Steve Rogers' denial and ability to lie to himself could withstand. And being unable to hear anything but both the words and the genuine, undeniable emotions that drove them, from one of three people he might respect, had done the improbable: it had found his only weak spot and managed to exploit it. His body was shaking violently now and his paper mâché reality was crumbling beneath his feet, leaving him teetering on the edge of the bottomless chasm of unassailable Truth.

He was terrified. And there was no way to stop his fall.

"The world will honor Tony Stark and his Defenders for centuries. You haven't been here for two months and nobody remembers your name. They don't even hate you anymore; you just don't exist. Congratulations, ULTRON. You did it: you have utterly destroyed your own world."

Ralston didn't see that broad chest hitching with silent sobs or notice the tears sliding unchecked down red, mottled cheeks, because he was done. Steve Rogers was finally dead to him. He didn't look back as he was escorted by a troop of officers in a reverent silence that would have unnerved him had he realized what he meant. He didn't know yet that the entire thing had been livestreamed to both the Accords Council and the UN Assembly, because Weston was a tactical genius on par with Patton and MacArthur and Eisenhower and Rommel and Montgomery. He knew that if Ralston was successful in breaking through Rogers' sanctimonious arrogance, he'd need a crowbar to widen the hole.

Also, frankly, there were a lot of people who had needed to hear Ralston's words — and Weston was not excluding himself from that. The effects were . . . profound. And more far-reaching than anyone would ever realize.

The shattering of Steve Rogers came from the most unlikely person anyone could have imagined.

One man saw a need and stepped in to fill it, not because he wanted to be a hero, but because he could.

And he helped save the world.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Dollars to Doughnuts

Matter cannot be created or destroyed. It is simply converted to a different medium.

May Parker was not a scientist. She had no interest in the subject and thought very little about it, outside of Peter’s ramblings and her occasional horrified question as to how green beans could be scorched to death.

She was therefore completely unprepared when she not only discovered the Law of Conservation of Mass, but triggered the explosive truth of it in a truly epic fashion one otherwise normal Friday evening.

Tony Stark had arrived at her apartment a few minutes earlier, after requesting the meeting on Wednesday, which was his and Peter’s official SI internship day. May was puzzled at this, as it was a touch odd, but not worried. If Peter was hurt, Tony would already have told her, so she assumed he was looking for permission to take her nephew on an out-of-state trip or something similar and was concerned about her reaction and possible rejection.

It should be noted that despite knowing Tony for going on two years, and knowing firsthand just how much he cared about Peter, May wasn’t . . . well, she didn’t really like Tony. She didn’t hate him, she just . . . her feelings could best be described as ‘lukewarm’. Oddly, very little of this was due to Germany or Spiderman. Her feelings were much older and much more deeply entrenched. Like many people, she believed a lot of the media stories, and his added status as ‘billionaire’ annoyed her on the grounds that someone who was that big an ass didn’t deserve to be filthy rich, too. His dramatic and highly public change of heart and attitude after Afghanistan made no difference to her, and the recklessness she saw as the reason for Iron Man actually lowered her opinion a little. Even after he started mentoring Peter properly and she got to see the man behind the lies, it still wasn’t enough to overcome her thoroughly ingrained negative thoughts, though she did her best to stifle them when it came to Peter.

She held similar feelings about Pepper Potts. One would have thought the two women would become close friends, bonding over their shared involvement in the lives of genius engineers moonlighting as superheroes, but Pepper’s publicized rise from PA to CEO had resulted in many of the same thoughts and ideas May held about Tony, as well as a fairly low-level resentment that she herself would never experience that kind of opportunity, and even though she made multiple, genuine attempts to forge a good relationship, Pepper never managed to breach May’s defenses and Peter’s aunt never quite warmed up to her.

Therefore, despite repeated efforts from Tony and Pepper, ‘cordial’ was the best description of the atmosphere when May interacted with Tony and/or Pepper for reasons other than ‘Peter got hurt’.

So being asked to host Stark for unexplained reasons was unexpected, but it wasn’t unheard of, so May made coffee and waited patiently to find out what this was about.

For his part, the man himself was uncharacteristically nervous and was fidgeting so much, Peter finally had to hold his leg still using his strength, lest Stark knock the table over. He gave the kid a rueful smile and got a look of such glowing adoration that the apartment’s crappy lighting got better, took a deep breath to visibly steel himself, and looked May dead in the eyes.

“Peter asked me to adopt him,” he told her with no preamble whatsoever. “And I said ‘yes’.”

May had no idea how long she sat there, staring blankly at nothing, while she processed that. It had come quite literally out of nowhere and she honestly didn’t know how to react. When she recovered enough to speak intelligibly, she said, “What?”

In reality, she was asking ‘What in the hell do you mean?’. Also, ‘what universe have I been transported to?’. There was a little ‘What have you been smoking?’ included for flavor, and of course, her main question was ‘I’m sorry, what did you just say?’.

Stark, however, took it as a request for clarification and, nervousness apparently gone now that he’d put the thought out in the universe, eagerly obliged.

“Well, he and I have been spending a lot of time together this last year, getting to know each other, and then I had to handle that little explosion at the parent-teacher conference — you remember, the one that Thompson brat caused trying to get my attention? — and Pete ended up crashing at the penthouse that whole weekend and we just . . . started to click. Really bond, you know? We have a lot more in common than just our love for building things—”

“—or blowing them up,” Peter interjected, grinning a little sheepishly, and Stark chuckled in response, ruffling his hair. May’s eyes narrowed at that, because Peter hated people touching his hair. He’d once gone more than two months with unwashed hair because he threw such massive tantrums at the thought of her or Ben doing it and wasn’t big enough himself. They’d finally compromised after a meeting with the school: Peter could do it himself but Ben had to supervise, and help if it became absolutely necessary. The bathroom looked like a pond after he was done and it took four tries to rinse all the soap out, but once he’d understood how everything worked, she and Ben had finally had a completely clean kid again.

So seeing him allow Tony Stark to just casually ruffle his hair without so much as a flinch raised May’s hackles.

When she realized he’d actually leaned into the touch, she got pissed off.

Not noticing this, as he was still looking at Peter, Stark kept talking.

“—and somewhere between homework and Spiderman and school crap and Star Wars and, and just life, he . . . I just . . . we realized that he’s my kid. He’s my son. And I’m . . . God, May, I’m his dad,” he finished, finally looking at her. A tender smile was on his lips and it probably should have been heartwarming, but all May could feel was outraged indignation at his arrogant, supremely undeserved presumption.

She said nothing in response, just glared at the man until his smile faded, replaced with concern. Peter frowned and leaned against his shoulder, watching her closely, and the sight of her nephew, the boy she’d raised for a decade, choosing Tony Stark over her, was the last straw.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes narrowed dangerously. “How on earth do you think you have the right to call yourself his dad?”

Her voice was so acidic, Peter and Stark both flinched. Peter, however, burrowed deeper into his mentor’s side, eyes wide with worry and fear as he gnawed on his lower lip, and seeing him seek Stark’s touch out spiked May’s anger, which was heavily underscored by hurt and fear, even higher. Pausing to think never even occurred to her, and neither did asking any questions, as she came to her feet, pacing the room and waving her arms to emphasize her points as she unleashed her feelings in a bitter tirade almost two years in the making.

“You see, parents don’t take their kids into dangerous, life-threatening battles,” she began, almost snarling in her fury. “They don’t keep secrets from the other parent, or lie to them, or make arbitrary decisions. Parents do what’s best for their kids, not what soothes their guilt or lets them play at being serious without having to commit. Parents put their kids first, n—”

“Stop. Talking. Now.”

Stunned by the cold, furious voice of Tony Stark, May did as ordered and really looked at him for the first time since he’d made his announcement.

The sight made her collapse in a chair that she nearly missed because her knees went so weak from a deep, raw fear she would never have dreamed Stark could evoke.

He was furious. His eyes, normally a warm, mischievous brown, were as dark as his favorite blend of Italian Roast coffee. The only hint of color was a thin ring of gold rimming the edge of that black rage and the sight was terrifying. Because despite two years of personal acquaintance, coupled with two and a half years of Peter’s commentary and insights into his mentor, May had never been able to rid herself of the media’s image of a careless playboy who took very little seriously and should rightfully attribute most of his success to other people.

And this was in spite of his actions not just as Iron Man, but also in getting rid of Obadiah Stane, completely restructuring Stark Industries and doing so with astonishing success, especially despite the lack of support he’d gotten from virtually everyone, and the destruction of the Ten Rings, Justin Hammer’s company and reputation, and everything that had happened with the Avengers.

All of that change and growth, some of which May had gotten a front-row seat to see, and yet she still believed the frivolous front he put up for his protection.

“I know you don’t think much of me personally, and that’s fine,” Stark said very, very quietly. The rage throbbing in his voice silenced her instinctive denial while also smothering quite a bit of her own anger, and she swallowed hard. “But who the hell do you think you are, telling me what I do and do not feel and think?”

That’s what he was mad about?!

“I know how the story goes,” he continued, glowering at her even as he stroked a tender, reassuring hand down Peter’s arm — Peter, who hated confrontation when it was about him and loved her so deeply, it sometimes took her aback.

Peter was sitting at Stark’s side, cuddling into him in a blatant show of support and watching his aunt with hurt, stunned eyes, instead of defending her or protesting the confrontation that had just exploded in front of him, and May honestly didn’t have a clue what to do with that. Her entire worldview was being upended and she had nothing to brace herself against.

“I’m supposed to bluster about how I don’t deserve Peter’s affection and I’m not worthy because I’m an ass, a bastard, selfish, doesn’t care about anyone else, the last choice for a good mentor or someone to just look up to. But despite my complete unworthiness, I’m still humbly asking for the chance. Right? Those are my lines?” Stark demanded, acid coating each syllable and etching a path of destructive shame through May’s veins.

Because he was right. Not only did she think that, she fully believed he’d thought it, too.

Or rather, she’d fully believed it until right this second.

But she’d unleashed the dragon and he was on a rampage, breathing fire fueled by anger and strongly underscored with a deep, raw hurt. She was denied the chance to speak — not that she knew what she’d say. Her worldview was still being upended and rewritten and she still had no solid ground to stand on and get her bearings.

“To answer your snide observations, I hadn’t known Peter for 48 hours when I gave him a new suit and took him to Germany,” Stark said caustically, pinning her in place with that terrifying gaze. But what was even more unnerving was watching Peter, her people-pleasing, confrontation-hating nephew, still say nothing in her defense — while tucking himself even more firmly into Stark’s side. He gave her one quick look, his gentle features now hard with anger he’d never directed at her, before returning his full attention to Stark. “Given that, I would love to hear you explain how and why, exactly, I should have thought of him as my son. It wasn’t a good decision, I’ll agree wholeheartedly there. But you don’t get to hold that against me almost three years later, especially since it has zero relevance to what’s happening now.”

The bastard actually stopped there and gave her the chance to answer him, to support her point, but she couldn’t and they both knew it. Her resentment flared higher at being backed so neatly into a corner of her own making, but words to explain that wouldn’t come.

“And yeah, before the ferry disaster, which we both share responsibility for, I made some poor choices,” he finally continued, his voice bitter now as he calmed from murderous rage she had provoked. “My reasoning was sound, but that doesn’t mean it was good, and Peter and I have talked about it several times. For the record, I’ve tried talking to you about it as well, but you weren’t interested. After you screamed at me for allowing Peter to swing around as Spiderman without telling you, you informed me that I was either going to step up and mentor him or I’d never see him again. And once I did, you never exhibited any interest in Spiderman outside of his injuries.”

Stark paused for a minute, breathing heavily, while May looked away, shame competing with resentment and drowning her self-righteous anger. He was absolutely right and until now, she’d never felt guilty about that, because there really wasn’t anything she could do to help Peter in his role as a superhero, so it had only made sense to leave the fine details to someone who could.

But it should have followed that the pair would build a genuine relationship from that, only she hadn’t seen it.

Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to see it.

Either way, Stark was right: she had no real right to be angry, which paradoxically angered her more. He was also correct in his declaration that she had no right to dictate his feelings. Hell, he’d even accepted that she had every right to be unhappy with this turn of events . . . but her feelings didn’t trump Stark’s, and they definitely weren’t more important than Peter’s, and that realization finally made her stop and think.

Not that she got far there, because Stark had one more thing to say, and it crystallized everything.

“If you say ‘no’, if you refuse to agree today, that’s your prerogative,” he informed her, voice still coated in bitter anger despite the conciliatory words. “But understand that we’ll just sign the papers on his 18^th birthday.”

Not remotely expecting that, May’s head snapped up and she gawked at the man, seeing again the juxtaposition of righteous anger on his own behalf and the love for Peter that were somehow peacefully coexisting in his eyes. The sound of her nephew — and Stark’s son, now — sniffing back tears made her look at him, really look at him, for the first time since he’d leaned against Stark instead of coming to her side. She saw the same emotions in him and swallowed hard. Defeat rushed through her, coupled with lingering resentment and shame she knew wouldn’t go away any time soon.

But the knowledge, the understanding, that Stark — no, that Tony — was right was stronger than everything else right now and when she finally allowed herself to see and accept how badly Peter wanted this, she capitulated as gracefully as she could. It would mean co-parenting with Stark —Tony (and, presumably, Pepper to some degree) — but he wasn’t that difficult to work with, not really. Not unless someone gave him a reason.

She just hadn’t wanted to see it.

Well, she wasn’t dead yet, so it was time for her to grow up a little more and accept that she’d been wrong about Stark — Tony. If he hurt Peter, she’d kill him and he knew it, and at the end of the day, that was the most important thing to both of them: Peter’s happiness and well-being.

With a deep sigh, she straightened in her chair and looked Tony dead in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was difficult to get out, because she was still angry and hurt and ashamed and resentful, but she had screwed up in both her assumptions and her accusations. And it wasn’t fair of her to demand that Tony apologize and make amends for his wrongdoings while ignoring hers because she knew he’d let her.

And he would. If she agreed to let him adopt Peter, he would forget every mean, snide, and hateful thing she’d ever said and thought about him. It was so incredibly tempting to do exactly that and avoid the unpleasantness of acknowledging her own faults and mistakes, especially out loud and to the person she’d wronged, but May had never been a coward. And if she avoided Stark — Tony — for a few weeks to process things, well, she knew everyone would understand and not hold it against her.

So she said it again, and it came out more easily this time. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. It wasn’t fair to you or Peter and . . . that’s it, really. I’m sorry. If this is truly what Peter wants, then I’ll agree to a dual adoption.”

Peter’s face — hell, his whole body — went slack with relief as joy flooded his features. He hugged Stark — Tony — so hard the man started to wheeze, and after the pair shared some soft words May couldn’t hear, Peter flung himself into her arms, babbling his thanks and telling her that he loved her so much and always would, this didn’t change anything.

He was wrong, but those changes didn’t have to be bad, so May let it be. She hugged her beloved nephew hard and whispered her love into his hair, knowing he’d hear her, while Stark — Tony — watched them with a fond smile. When she met his eyes again, the rage was gone, replaced with relief that they had successfully weathered this storm, and they simply watched each other for a bit before he nodded and she gave him a small smile in return.

Nothing had really changed yet and they all knew it . . . but it was a solid start.

And she swore, as she and Tony Stark smiled somewhat ruefully at each other, that Ben and Richard and Mary were laughing, somewhere beyond the horizon.

~~~

When James Rhodes engineered the downfall of the so-called Rogue Avengers and inadvertently saved the world in the process, it was a complete acci—well, okay, not an accident so much as an admittedly spiteful bet made with the Accords Council regarding a sure thing. The resulting domino effect was genuinely a happy accident.

And the way it came about was . . . well, put it this way: the bookies in Vegas would have done a collective double-take and there would have been some serious betting on whether Rhodes’ proposed bet was, in fact, a good bet to take odds on.

The irony was delicious and missed by no one.

After three weeks of fruitless negotiations with the UN regarding Rogers and his team of sycophantic dipshits, Rhodes had finally conspired with Pepper, Peter, and Happy to get Tony the rest he so desperately needed. Underhanded though it was, they ended up having to lace Tony’s coffee with a sedative, park him on the couch with Peter tucked into one side and Pepper curled up mostly in his lap, had FRIDAY play Snow Falling on Cedars on the TV, and wait the seven minutes it took for his exhausted, overworked best friend to crash.

He had then convened an emergency meeting with Peter and Pepper, wherein frustrations were vented, tantrums were thrown, a few old weapons of the Rogues were demolished, and a positively diabolical idea was introduced as part of the aforementioned venting — and it would bring down the Rogues with a minimum of fuss and no damage, collateral or otherwise. It would also serve as a huge helping of humble pie to the Council, which was a fat, juicy cherry on top of the whipped cream (if one could pardon the pun).

Peter, bless his protective little heart, had quite rightly bitched that the group’s collective habit of jumping to stupid, idiotic conclusions about any- and everything they didn’t like, understand, or agree with was dangerous, and why the Accords Council didn’t understand that was beyond him. Then he added, in seriously aggrieved tones, that they were even worse when it came to Tony, because not a single member of Rogers’ cadre trusted him or was even willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. No matter what Tony said or did, they automatically assumed the worst and acted accordingly.

None of them ever acknowledged it when they were proven wrong.

And not a single member of the group ever apologized, no matter how egregious the insult.

Never.

It took two more days, seven fruitless meetings with the Council, and some really bad tequila, but Rhodes was struck with an IDEA when a light bulb literally exploded over his head — the UN barracks were older than Rogers and not nearly as well maintained — and after he blinked the afterimage out of his eyes, the devious colonel sat down, produced a notebook and Biro pen, told the Tony Stark in his head to chill out, using pen and paper wouldn’t actually kill him, and mapped out a way to prove to the Council that the Rogues were not trustworthy, nor had they learned a single damn thing from any of their numerous and catastrophic mistakes, and allowing the proposed pardons to go through would be the stupidest idea in the history of the UN.

And they’d had some doozies.

In the end, it was easy. Had it been anyone other than James Rhodes negotiating, he would have thought it was too easy. But Rhodes had been friends with Tony Stark for 30 years and, as such, had learned the fine arts of negotiation, bullshitting, and deal-making from the one of the acknowledged Five Business Masters of the World.

Also, the Accords Council was so taken aback at being challenged on their assertions and assumptions with something as . . . well, as crass as a bet, that they accepted out of pure curiosity.

And, admittedly, the arrogance of people who are making decisions they aren’t qualified to make because they are lacking both knowledge and the wisdom to listen to and learn from the people who did know.

So it came to pass that, after conferring with the leaders of every group of enhanced that were actively supporting with Accords or seriously thinking about signing them — and getting unanimous, oftentimes highly amused agreement with his plan — James Rhodes sealed the Rogue Avengers’ fate by betting the Accords Council that, on being told the truth about Spiderman, they would, without asking so much as a single question, instantly turn on Tony Stark and accuse him of recruiting/creating/using child soldiers, being irresponsible/reckless/arrogant, and blame his ego not just for the team being forced to become criminals, but also everything else they had complaints about (the Accords, ULTRON, the Accords, and Maximoff were Rhodes’ mental expectations, but he was wise enough to leave that part of the outcome open-ended).

Rhodes made a deliberate point of saying Romanova would blame Tony’s ego, and Barton likely would as well, while the others would go directly for Tony. This was in part because he knew they’d say and do that exact thing. But he also needed — no, that was a lie. He wanted to prove to this group of people who were living down to every expectation of elected politicians that no, they didn’t know everything and also that they were being breathtakingly stupid by ignoring every single person who had information they didn’t.

If Rhodes was wrong and the Rogues behaved like mature, responsible adults who demonstrated they were capable of learning from their mistakes, he and Tony would retract any and all objections to the pardons.

If he was right and they reverted to their established form of childish, irresponsible verbal and emotional abuse (and possible destruction, depending on how badly they took the news about Peter), then the Council would immediately rescind their pardons, issue a formal, televised apology for their insults and shitty behavior not just to the injured countries and people, but also directly to Tony, and actively work with the other countries to press charges and put them on trial for their many, many crimes.

In other words, Rhodes and everyone else who supported the Accords — because they understood that everyone involved needed reasonable limits and rules — were killing two birds with one spectacular bet.

And watching it go down was going to be EPIC.

~~~

Being the wise, knowledgeable man he was, Rhodes ensured that Tony knew nothing of his plan. It was partly a precaution, keeping things clean to avoid accusations of bias or entrapment.

But it was mostly because he knew that if Tony was there when things went down, his guilt complex would rear up and cause him to take the Rogues’ bullshit to heart, and Rhodes flatly refused to allow that bunch of dickweeds to hurt Tony, Peter, or the precious relationship they were building. Never again.

He’d vacillated for a while on telling Peter, who still had a non-existent poker face, but when the young man looked him dead in the eye and demanded the right to share the news because a) it was his news to share and b) he had his own axe to grind, Rhodes readily conceded. Frankly, Peter deserved the chance to express his feelings as much as the rest of them did. Plus, his presence would actually loosen Rogers’ tongue, and probably Barton’s as well, which would only help Rhodes’ . . . well, okay, the world’s . . . cause. And, perhaps most importantly, he wasn’t actually a child. He wasn’t an adult, but his life experiences, completely separate from Spiderman, had forced him to mentally and emotionally mature a lot more than his age suggested. And he wouldn’t be alone; Rhodes would be standing guard at his shoulder, providing very obvious support.

Once the Council agreed to the terms and conditions of the bet and Peter had successfully made his case, a date was set for the private announcement of Spiderman’s identity, the final review of their pardons, and either the signing of the revised Accords or the arrest of the entire group of Rogues.

Let the games begin.

~~~

Peter, Rhodes, and the unfortunate man voluntold to be the Rogues’ Accords liaison were waiting in a conference room in the Compound, while the 9-member Council was safely sequestered two rooms down, with an active audio and visual feed to the meeting with the Rogues. Peter and Rhodes had debated intensely for a few hours on whether he should wear his suit when meeting the group; they’d both been all for Peter’s identity being completely hidden, but once the young man had eventually concluded doing so would derail the very point they were trying to make, a reluctant compromise was found: Peter would wear the suit but not the mask, and Rhodes would have the briefcase version of War Machine with him, in case things got even more out of hand than they were expecting.

To their complete lack of surprise, Rogers’ team sauntered into the room ten minutes late with an arrogant insouciance that had Rhodes gritting his teeth to control his sudden spurt of rage. Seeing their attitude didn’t surprise him at all, but it did an excellent job at reinforcing just how much he hated them.

Except Steve Rogers.

Rhodes hadn’t merely hated Rogers since the ULTRON incident. He occasionally missed those days, when all he wanted to do was punch the little bastard in the groin, gag him with the muzzle they’d used on Loki, and use him as a crash test dummy for new hand-to-hand techniques and Tony's ever-more-inventive repulsor options.

After . . . well, put it this way: it was a very good thing for everyone that Rhodes had been sent on assignment to the Middle East. At least that conflict made a certain kind of ideological sense. Because to this day, Rhodes could not understand how or why Rogers believed his treatment and attitude to Tony was acceptable and his fury at being unable to help his friend or even mitigate the damage had found an immediate, if ultimately futile, target in the fake, useless 'hero'.

And now? Now James Rhodes utterly despised Steve Rogers. He despised him, he loathed him, he abhorred his very existence. His feelings were so powerful, Rhodes could have told Sarah Rogers, to her face and without so much as a stutter, that she would have saved the world a dozen times over if she’d just used a fucking condom — or, barring that, followed her doctor’s suggestion and drowned him at birth.

Since Peter felt much the same way, right down to the familial feelings he held for Tony, he smoothly moved to put himself between Rhodes and the incoming group; it wasn’t that he had any objection to his uncle unleashing War Machine on them, but they had to wait until the morons actively provoked that response.

So he used himself as a human shield, though he was unable to school his expression and his sneer was pronounced.

Because it was directed at him, Rogers naturally noticed the young man’s displeasure and frowned, altering his course and making a beeline to the pair. Amusingly, it was Romanova who first registered Peter’s actual appearance and her jaw dropped for a second in unfiltered shock before she grabbed Barton’s arm. Most people would have assumed this was to help keep him calm when he put Peter’s age together with Spiderman, but Rhodes knew better. She was deliberately drawing the archer’s attention to Peter’s underage status, because he was blatantly displaying his loyalty to Tony and Barton’s resentment of the billionaire had clearly deepened to hate while he’d been hiding in Wakanda. And he had kids, though how deep his paternal feelings really were was up in the air, so getting him worked up in a lather about ‘child soldiers’ wouldn’t take much effort.

Her ploy worked and Rhodes mentally sighed when Barton went red with anger, jaw clenched and hands fisting, while Wilson just looked disapproving, Maximoff appeared constipated, and Rogers . . . huh. He’d managed to combine all three emotions and looked way too much like he was about to crap his pants while giving the waiter a disappointed look and lecturing the curry for being unnecessarily spicy.

Whoa. That imagery was hilarious, but it was also bordering on insane and Rhodes mentally shook his head. No matter how this ultimately turned out, he needed to have his head completely in the game. It might be a bet, but Tony’s sanity was on the line, not to mention the fate of the world.

Showing his usual disregard for other people, Rogers didn’t give him the chance to say or do anything and stomped over to Peter, the disapproving scowl he mistakenly thought was paternal and trustworthy darkening his mouth and making him look exactly like the Moron Dad in every bad comic strip.

Oh, hell, the hysteria had kicked back in and Rhodes had to forcibly bite down a giggle. It was a good thing he and Peter had already decided that the Spiderling would be responsible for his own announcement; tantrum aside, it was unlikely any of the group would physically try to hurt Peter, but if they did and he couldn’t handle it himself, Rhodes had his suit for backup. So he could recover his composure while Peter explained his particular situation.

. . . which he was about to do now, apparently. According to the schedule, the final reading and acceptance of the pardons was supposed to be first, but Rogers had gotten a bee in his bonnet, as had the rest of the group, and they all knew he’d destroy the room before ‘backing down’.

His insistence on sticking to the initial stance he chose to take regardless of anything that happened later suddenly made Rhodes wonder if the man would actually die if he changed his mind about something.

Huh. Well, if all else failed, that would be an interesting experiment.

Peter smirked as he observed their approach, and something about it made Wilson falter, his eyes widening in sudden consternation. Maximoff’s sneer deepened, Romanova defaulted to her usual bland expression, Barton’s face twisted in disproportionate anger, and Rogers didn’t notice.

So far, everyone was responding as expected.

But the Big Reveal was still to come, and everything was riding on it.

Though not a religious man, Rhodes nonetheless bowed his head and sent up a quick prayer, asking for this slightly-insane plan of his to work and finally allow justice to be served.

“Why are you wearing Spiderman’s suit? And how old are you?!” Rogers demanded the second he got within arm’s reach of Peter, who just tilted his head and gave the bastard a look so bland, even the dull white walls were impressed. Startled at being dismissed as unimportant — at least by someone who wasn’t Tony Stark — the beefy blond moron rocked back on his heels and mouthed wordlessly for a second while Peter took full advantage of the opportunity he’d been so enticingly presented and dived right in.

“I’m wearing Spiderman’s suit because I’m Spiderman. I turn seventeen soon,” he replied simply, his voice calm and even.

Well, that’s what Rogers got from it.

Everyone else in the room, however, heard the scathing undertones, though reactions varied. Rhodes smirked with malicious satisfaction. The Accords liaison appeared impassive, but he saw rising concern in that green gaze. The Rogues went straight to tantrum-throwing outrage.

More importantly, they went straight to blaming Tony.

Rhodes grinned like a loon as he listened to them spout the accusations he’d assured the Council they would make — oh, wow, they really did get every single one of them. Irresponsible/reckless/selfish/arrogant/egotistical (Romanova, Wilson, Barton); child soldier (Barton and Rogers); guilty conscience (Wilson and Rogers); illegal experimentation (Rogers and Maximoff); using the Accords to justify corrupting a child . . . oh, hell, no. As gratifying as it was to hear them condemn themselves, Rhodes still had to physically grip the legs of his chair to keep from blasting the entire sorry bunch of them into a pile of ashes as they tore into Tony so viciously and hatefully.

And then Maximoff managed to go even further by declaring that Stark had obviously murdered Peter’s parents the way he had hers so he could steal the child and raise him to . . . destroy . . . the world?

Umm.

Wow.

That was . . . disturbing. And yet, somehow not remotely surprising.

Peter allowed the screaming, multi-person rants to go on for two full minutes, confirmed Rhodes was still safely behind him, and calmly and expressionlessly raised both wrists and fired a web grenade. The flashbang stunned the Rogues into silence, complete with rapid blinking, tears, and — in the case of Rogers and Barnes — flinches of pain as their stronger senses were assaulted by a powerful wave of sound and light.

It took a while for them to mostly recover, with Rhodes watching in ill-concealed amusement and Peter with quickly-deepening annoyance as the entire group flailed like a beached octopus, limbs waving wildly every which way and sucking deep gasps of air that attested to the strength of Spiderman’s attack. But they all finally recovered enough to give the young man matching outraged looks, only to collectively blink and draw back in surprise when they were met with the cold, unimpressed face of Peter Parker.

To be fair, their surprise was reasonable. Peter himself was rather unprepossessing. Slim, short, baby-faced, kind eyes . . . he was the physical embodiment of ‘gentle’. On top of that, Peter — or rather, Spiderman — was well-known to be extremely easygoing. He would often banter with the criminals he caught and he rarely lost his temper beyond webbing someone’s mouth shut because they were shouting obscenities or, in one memorable case, a voodoo curse. So seeing his icy anger was unexpected.

But they weren’t given another chance to express their feelings.

“Who are you?” Peter snapped, pointing at Rogers and smirking when the man inadvertently flinched back. He was also unable to hide his sudden wary respect for the young vigilante, and Rhodes mentally nodded with fierce satisfaction. It was long past time for someone to shut the bastard up. And, frankly, Peter deserved a hell of a lot more respect than he’d been given.

After several seconds of silence punctuated only by the sound of rapid, confused blinking from Rogers, he slowly said, “I’m Captain America. W—”

Peter’s scornful laugh cut him off mid-word and he scowled, but once again was denied the chance to rebut.

“No, you’re not,” the young man sneered. “You aren’t a captain of anything. But let’s pretend for a second that’s true. Captain America is what you think you are. I want to know who you are.”

Indignation washed over Rogers, but showing a completely unexpected display of intelligence, he didn’t push the issue. Instead, he blinked a few more times, then tried, “I’m Steve Rogers.”

This got an approving nod, followed by Peter turning to Romanova and snapping, “Who are you?”

She learned faster than Rogers, so her first reply was her current alias. Peter’s narrowed eyes clearly showed he knew she wasn’t being truthful, but he accepted the lie as part of being a spy and didn’t call her on it; instead, he snapped the same question to the rest of the Rogues, and when he ended up back at Rogers, he gave the man a bitter, threatening smile.

“So, you are not my father, uncle, brother, mother, aunt, or sister. In fact, not a single one of you has so much as a degree of Kevin Bacon relation to me, so who the hell do you think you are, blaming Tony Stark for my choices?” he demanded, frigid contempt coating each word. “What I do or don’t do has exactly jack-shit to do with you, and beyond that, nobody is interested in your thoughts on the subject. Your opinion isn’t needed, it isn’t wanted, it isn—actually, you know what? You aren’t allowed to have an opinion about me being Spiderman, and you don’t get to have any thoughts, either. It is nothing to do with you, about you, or for you — in fact, as far as Spiderman is concerned, you are nothing but a bunch of war criminal terrorists.”

Fury flared in Rogers’ eyes, echoed by his team, but Peter easily ignored it and planted his feet a little more firmly as he squared his shoulders and stared resolutely into that baby blue gaze. The dichotomy of his gentle features, still soft with youth, and the well-earned rage in his eyes of a seasoned adult thrice his age held the room in thrall and cut off Rogers’ self-righteous lecture before he got the first syllable out.

“This is your only warning. I am none of your business or your concern, either as Spiderman or as Peter Parker. The only people who get to have opinions, thoughts, and any say over me and my actions are Tony Stark — you know, my dad? — my Aunt May, Pepper, and Uncle Rhodey. Everyone else can fall off a cliff or die in a fire for all I care — but you do not get to say anything, think anything, or even consider having views about me. When you committed multiple counts of international terrorism and war crimes before hiding like the cowards you are for three years, you also forfeited every single right you had when it comes to thoughts, opinions, and suggestions about the Avengers, much less anyone not part of your little clique of assclowns.”

He paused, his gaze somehow getting even colder, and Rhodes winced a little. He knew better than anyone just how protective Peter was of Tony, but never in a million years would he have imagined this depth of fury.

It was terrifying, because he also knew better than most just how dangerous Peter Parker would be if he ever allowed himself to unleash the full force of his rage and his strength.

“And you shattered everything when you lied to my father, blamed him for your weak, spineless, worthless character, and left him to die,” he growled, hands clenching into fists so tightly his knuckles turned red. “You forfeited the right to state that water is wet, but you think you actually have the moral high ground to blame and lecture him about something you know literally nothing about?! And of course, he’s the bad guy. There can’t possibly be any reason, explanation, or exception. Tony did it, therefore it is wrong, bad, evil, and stupid. Well, fuck you,” he spat, eyes narrowed to slits and face carved from stone. “Fuck you all. This is your only warning: stay away from me, my dad, and our family. Because if you don’t, and I believe you’re a threat to him, I will not hesitate to put you down. And unlike my dad, I won’t hold back. He could have killed you a dozen times over in that bunker and chose not to because he’s a good man. I try to be, because I want to make him proud. But you aren’t worth the effort. None of you are,” he spat, sweeping the stunned group with a contemptuous gaze that made them all flinch from . . . wait. Was — was that actual shame?

Oh.

It wasn't. They were just stunned that someone was finally calling them out, and a teenager to boot.

“And I know you aren’t remotely sorry, or remorseful, or even regretful about what you did. So you don’t get another chance to hurt him, or Uncle Rhodey, or me. I have no problems with webbing you up and hanging you upside down from the top of the Empire State Building. Actually, I’m looking forward to it,” Peter added, suddenly sounding conversational in a way that terrified everyone in the room, including Rhodes. “Uncle Happy and I have a bet to see if the webs will dissolve before the cops show up, especially since they hate that I do their job better than they do, so they like to take their time getting to the criminals I catch for them.”

And that was it. Having said his piece, Peter didn’t bother dropping the mic. He just turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving a shocked, appalled, and quietly afraid group of really bad cartoon villains staring after him in various shades of horror, disbelief, and wary respect. Rhodes, still a little stunned himself (and so proud he could burst, because that had been epic), nonetheless recovered first, caught a glimpse of the blinking red camera light to his left, and smiled.

Rogers, clearly flabbergasted, took a step back and so did a very unhappy Wilson. Romanova and Barton didn’t, but he could see how much effort that took and was quietly satisfied that at least two of them were starting to understand just how much trouble they were in.

And it was about to get so much gloriously worse.

“I’d give you the same speech, but I’m not a fan of redundancy,” he announced, startling everyone. “You see, this was a test. Your final exam, in fact. And every single one of you failed. We needed to know if any of you had learned . . . well, anything, really, from the last three years. Do you understand anything about what you did wrong, or how you wronged people? Hell, do you even understand that other people exist as a reality, not just an abstract?”

He hadn’t meant to get so philosophical, but Peter wasn’t the only one aching to give these pricks a dressing-down that would give Thaddeus Ross pause. Irritatingly, the Accords Council interrupted before he could really get going.

Of course, that kept Rogers from mouthing off again, which meant Rhodes didn’t break his hand on the asshole’s face, but still: they couldn’t have waited ninety seconds?

“Colonel Rhodes is correct,” Vice President Nelson announced as he stalked through the door, visibly startling the Rogues, who apparently hadn’t noticed the Council was missing.

Which — well, really, why was he surprised? None of them but Romanova and maybe Barton had an ounce of external awareness, and theirs only extended to covering themselves. Assuming the spies had seen the empty chairs, which was a big assumption, they’d clearly dismissed the implications of that as inconsequential.

Meaning they hadn’t even bothered to do basic research and therefore didn’t understand that the absence of those nine people, given what was supposed to happen today, was a huge red flag.

A flag that none of the Council missed.

The other eight members followed Nelson into the room and formed a semicircle at the end of the table.

To a person, they fixed the team with a look so unimpressed, even Romanova swallowed, before President Monarch heaved a frustrated, exasperated sigh, and told them, “Congratulations. You have just set the record for the fastest waste of a second chance the world has ever seen. Aht!!!” he snapped as Barton opened his mouth to object, likely with copious use of profanity, and slapped a hand on the table. “You were presented with exactly two pieces of information, neither of which you knew to be true, and not only did you instantly assume facts not in evidence, but you proceeded to make the worst possible decision at every turn. My God, people! If we can’t trust you to at least hear your teammate out instead of immediately crucifying him, then how can we trust that you’ll give your mission handlers or this Council, neither of whom you know, the same courtesy?”

This annoyed demand made Wilson and Romanova wince, but no one else grasped the implications, and Rhodes’ mental smile widened to Cheshire Cat levels at Rogers’ stubborn defiance and Maximoff’s arrogant disdain.

Monarch’s jaw tightened at this telling lack of remorse and his voice was cold as he snapped, “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it — not one of you stopped to think about the information you got. You just assumed it was true, assumed the worst of Dr. Stark, and attacked him based on those assumptions — and he isn’t even here! He had no chance to defend himself against suggestions so nefarious I’m actually queasy at remembering them. You’ve known him for years, though apparently none of you have paid an ounce of actual attention, something that is extremely disturbing on its own merits. What’s worse, you acted as judge, jury, and executioner without cause, which is dangerous and not something you’re qualified to do. And with your heinous, despicable actions, you have just clearly demonstrated that you — none of you — are mature enough or responsible enough to sign the Accords and work as functional members of this team.”

There was one, two, eight, fifteen beats of stunned silence before — shockingly — Rogers finally broke it.

Though Rhodes found himself more than a lot surprised by what he said.

“I dropped a gangway on a 14-year-old child!” he wailed, turning green.

Oh.

That.

Rhodes rolled his eyes, causing Barton and Wilson to scowl horribly at him, which in turn earned them a pointed grimace filled with nothing but teeth and made them both take an involuntary step back. That small matter handled, he turned back to Rogers and scoffed.

“So, what, it would have been perfectly acceptable to try to kill him without knowing a damn thing about him or his abilities if he’d been eighteen?” he asked sarcastically, watching with dark satisfaction as the walking steroid flinched. “I guess that means my injuries were acceptable and so were Tony’s, since we’re both legal adults.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Rogers exclaimed, going from guilty to affronted so fast, Rhodes got whiplash.

He could not have cared less about that, because without even realizing it, the moron was digging his grave even deeper.

And at this point, the Council couldn’t cry foul if he gave the man a better shovel.

So he did.

“That’s what you said,” he shot back, jabbing a finger in Rogers’ direction when he started to move forward and stopping him in his tracks. “You’re wailing because you almost killed a kid, but you have yet to express an ounce of regret about almost killing me and Tony. So, you don’t have a problem with murdering people . . . but you somehow think it’s wrong to murder a child.”

“Yes, of course!” the hypocrite cried, waving his arms in emphasis, and Rhodes scoffed again.

“Right,” he drawled. “Tell that to the parents of all the children you murdered in Lagos and Bucharest. Oh, don’t even,” he snapped when that stupidly-perfect mouth opened to whine again. “You aren’t actually upset that you almost killed Peter. In fact, you like it, because it gives you another reason to criticize Tony and put him down.”

And they were back to affronted. Egads, dealing with the brat was exhausting. No wonder Tony had finally quit fighting; this obnoxious parasite had sucked him dry.

“I never—” Rogers began, only to glower furiously when Rhodes steamrolled over him.

“You haven’t said a word to me about Peter and I was at that airport, too. So clearly, I knew and didn’t stop him, or Tony. Why aren’t you blaming me? Why is Tony the only one who ever does anything wrong?” he asked in a quiet, dangerous voice that made everyone with a working brain wince.

This left Rogers, Barton, and Maximoff holding the bag.

Which Barton promptly dropped.

“Because he’s the one prancing around and telling the world how much better he is than the rest of us,” the archer replied hotly, supremely unimpressed with the entire situation. “He always needs to be taken down a few pegs, but most people are too afraid to do it. But that means he creates shit like the Accords and ULTRON, and it isn’t like anyone else is that stupid!”

The silence that fell was so cold, Rhodes instinctively reached for the jacket on his chair.

Then Monarch recovered both his wits and his ability to speak.

The resultant dressing down was so blistering, even Rogers was cowed by the time the man ran out of steam, and not a single member of the Rogues offered a token objection when a heavily-armed task force took them into specially-prepared custody.

Other than Maximoff, that is, but Rhodes took great, great pleasure in shooting her in the stomach with a giant bullet containing a tranquilizer designed by Tony, Helen Cho, and one Stephen Strange. It was both deeply satisfying and equally as hilarious to watch her do genuine slo-mo flailing with her arms while her speech instantly slurred and her voice deepened as she cried, “NOOOOO!!!!’, looking and sounding just like a bad cliffhanger on a railroad track in a Keystone Cops movie. And nobody tried to stop her fall when she faceplanted on the hard tile floor, also in slow-motion, though Rogers did cry her name and bluster something about her being a poor, helpless kid who was just misguided.

He was ignored.

Once everyone was sure she was unconscious and then firmly restrained, and the rest weren’t getting loose anytime soon, the room emptied until only Rhodes, President Monarch, Vice President Nelson, and the Sokovian rep were left.

It took more willpower than Rhodes knew he possessed, but he managed to keep the singsong “I told you so” trapped behind his teeth.

The smug grin wasn’t containable, but he figured that was fair. And, honestly, given the constipated expressions the other three were sporting, it was clear they’d heard it anyway.

And had no rebuttal against it. Or him.

After a minute or so of silence, Monarch sighed and put his briefcase on the table, opened it with jerky, unhappy movements, and pulled a stupidly-thick stack of paperwork out, cutting Rhodes a dark look that dared him to speak.

He merely arched his eyebrows.

There was a tiny, almost inaudible sigh, and then Monarch produced a pen, pointedly ignored Rhodes, and began the tedious process of initialing and signing every page revoking the pardons of each member of the Rogues. Twenty minutes of dead silence and one cramped hand later, it was done. Only then did Rhodes step forward and go through the equally tedious, though thankfully not as long, process of officially witnessing the final page of each revocation.

And that was it.

Rogers and his team of criminals were headed to prison.

The wave of utter relief that swamped Rhodes was so strong, it almost knocked him over, but he braced himself against the sensation and looked all three of them in the eye.

“Thank you,” he told them, meaning it with about half the fibers of his being. He didn’t take it personally when all he got in reply were three regal nods before he was left alone in the room, torn between seething anger and desperate gratitude.

Because he was still aggravated that getting those fools to see reason regarding the former Avengers had been reduced to something as crass as a fucking bet on their childish attitudes and tantrum-throwing behavior . . . but it had worked. The bastards were finally done. Finished. They would be put on trial — which should be quick, given the massive amount of evidence against them — and then shoved in a prison and forgotten about.

Best of all, Tony hadn’t been forced to deal with it or them. Rhodes and Peter had successfully managed to give the man a much-deserved break and kept him away from the most toxic group of people imaginable.

And he was including SHIELD and HYDRA in that description.

But it was over. The Accords Council had no reason whatsoever to talk to Tony about this, though he would doubtless learn the details as the trials approached, but it was done and dusted. The Rogues had burned their own bridges, dug their own graves, destroyed themselves, blah-blah-blah. Their own actions had resulted in their truly spectacular fall from grace and that? That was the greatest prize James Rhodes could get.

He danced to We Are the Champions as he left the room, because he was James Fucking Rhodes and nobody hurt his little brother the way those fuckers had.

(he and FRIDAY also conspired and played Another One Bites the Dust, loudly and with great emphasis, at the conclusion of each trial.

But that’s another story)

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Follow the Leader

Twenty-one hours, nine minutes, and fifteen seconds after the entire team ran onto the plane, so desperate to be out of Thailand that not a single snide comment was made by anyone, the Avengers’ quinjet finally touched down on the Compound’s landing pad. Tony Stark — exhausted, jittery, missing his fiancée and his kid, one Peter Parker (though no one but Rhodes knew about him), and both anticipating and dreading the sheer amount of work waiting for him from R&D — triggered the stairs and bolted down them without so much as a wave. Barton was four steps behind him, with Rhodes at his shoulder, and still no snide comments were made. All three of them were that desperate to speak to their loved ones and get back to their lives.

Their feet had barely hit the tarmac when Steve Rogers appeared at the plane’s door and called, “Take fifteen minutes to freshen up, then meet in the conference room to debrief.”

Tony stopped so abruptly, Rhodes and Barton had to swerve to keep from hitting him and Rhodes wasn’t sure how he stayed on his feet. His best friend, however, was oblivious to his plight, as he was literally gaping at Rogers in pure, raw disbelief.

“Debrief?” he demanded, outraged. “Debrief about what?! We landed, we shook hands with government officials, we went to our shitty hotel with its non-existent water pressure, worse coffee, and the torture racks they called ‘mattresses’, and then they had a minor coup, in which we did exactly nothing and instead spent the three weeks it took them to deal with it stuck in said shitty hotel. What the hell is there to debrief about?!”

Rogers scowled, both at his tone and at his inescapable logic, and it deepened when Rhodes and Barton both nodded. “He’s absolutely right, Cap. We didn’t do anything. I’ve had more exciting weeks recovering in Medbay,” the archer said with a shrug.

“That doesn’t matter,” Rogers dismissed them both. “It was our first mission as a team and we need to talk about it.”

Despite their matching aggrieved sighs, Barton and Rhodes accepted this answer and nodded their acquiescence.

Tony did not.

Eyes narrowed, he took a single step forward and said in a very quiet voice, one that made Rhodes tense instinctively, “Where have we all been for the last twenty-one hours, Rogers?”

A puzzled look was his only reply.

This did not help matters.

“All of us have been stuck on the same damn airplane for nearly a literal entire day,” he growled, eyes blazing with contempt and more than a little anger. “Which means that even though there is nothing to debrief about, you could have done it at any point during the last 21 hours. So why didn’t you?”

Dead silence.

“Yeah,” Tony spat derisively. “And this, Rogers, is exactly why you are a bad leader. You cannot compartmentalize to save your life, you cannot or will not think ahead, and because you don’t have anything or anyone but the Avengers, you either ignore our outside obligations or you don’t remember we have them. Either way, that’s your failure. But like hell I’m indulging it. I have a fiancée to reunite with and a company to get back to — and yes, Rogers, I work my ass off for SI, even though you think I just sit there and twiddle my thumbs all day. I am the head of R&D, which is our biggest department, and it doesn’t run nearly as smoothly when I’m gone for extended periods of time. There is at least one actual mountain of work waiting for me to personally handle, maybe two, plus the four or five mountains of stuff I have to review and approve or deny. And that’s not counting the woman who’s agreed to marry me. I need to see her more than I need to breathe right now. Barton feels the same way about his family, and so does Platypus — who also has an actual job to get back to.”

Tony paused and took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger, before he observed the stubborn, mulish expression on Rogers’ face and shook his head, giving it up as a lost cause.

“But even beyond that, we are all exhausted,” he explained in clipped tones, gesturing expansively. “Every one of us deserves a hot shower with water pressure and actual hot water, food that isn’t rice that we can actually taste, a change of clothes that isn’t a month old, and personal time away from each other because — all together now — we’ve been stuck in the same fucking hotel for three and a half weeks!!!”

This pause was much shorter, but considerably more ominous.

“But just like always, Rogers, you’re ignoring all of that because you’re the Team Lead, and you think that means you get to dictate our lives. Well, newsflash: it doesn’t. And before you start whining about how I’m not being a team player, I will say it again: we didn’t do a single fucking thing as the Avengers the entire time we were there. I didn’t even do anything as Tony Stark, like help them negotiate. There is literally nothing to debrief about, because we didn’t do anything! But even if we had and there was something to talk about, YOU are the one who wasted 21 hours of chances so you could play God and force us to dance to your tune because you have no life, so the rest of us just have to put ours on hold until you magnanimously decide that we’re allowed to return to them.”

Everyone but Rogers winced at that, but nobody tried to contradict Tony, or defend Rogers, and after several seconds of awkward, yet somehow supportive, silence, Tony scoffed and stalked to the Compound entrance. Rhodes fell in step at his shoulder and Barton was only a few steps behind them. None of them looked back or even slowed down, and the sound of the door closing behind them was deafening.

Finally, Rogers, who was still standing in the jet’s door, huffed out a disbelieving laugh and turned to Wilson and Romanova, features twisted in anger.

“I told you Stark hadn’t changed,” he accused Romanova, making her eyebrows shoot up. She said nothing, however, simply stared him down, and it unnerved him enough that he didn’t say anything else.

Finally, after several minutes of increasingly uncomfortable silence, she moved to exit the jet herself.

But as she squeezed past him, she said something that stopped him in his tracks.

“Tell me again how he’s wrong?”

And then it was just Rogers and Wilson. The Falcon stared at his leader for a few seconds, then clapped a commiserating hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. They were all out of line there. You’re our leader and you have the right and the duty to decide when and how we debrief. They need to respect that.”

Rogers blew out a deep breath in response and smiled at his second. “Thanks, Sam. It’s good to know you have my back. Come on, let’s go shower and change. There’s no point in making a fuss now; Tony will refuse just to be a child and Rhodes will encourage him, so I’ll draw up a set of rules and regs and present them at our next meeting.”

In perfect solidarity, the pair exited the jet and headed inside. They were blissfully unaware that not only had FRIDAY recorded everything, but Rhodes would reach out to the Accords Panel the next day to file an official complaint about Rogers and his blatant, troubling, continued lack of leadership skills, with proof that could not be denied or misconstrued.

They had no idea that in less than a week, Rhodes would be promoted to Team Lead, Rogers would be demoted to probationary status that didn’t last a month before he was formally discharged from the team and stripped of all ranks and titles, and Wilson would simply be a team member, not Rhodes’ 2iC, until he got sick of being held accountable and not receiving the preferential treatment he’d always gotten from Rogers.

Neither man would ever realize that the entire world cheered on hearing the news that Steve Rogers had finally reaped the consequences of his own actions.

But they did see the Avengers grow and thrive under the capable hands and strong leadership of James Rhodes.

And they just could not understand why.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Dangerous

Tony Stark was many things. His most famous sobriquet now was, of course, Iron Man. This was closely followed by Genius, Former Playboy Now Happily Engaged to Pepper Potts, Billionaire, Philanthropist. And of course, Merchant of Death got tossed around a lot, mostly by people who didn’t have a clue what they were actually talking about and thought that jeering the title made them sound more intelligent than they really were (Wanda Maximoff immediately sprang to mind, as did Steve Rogers, along with a depressingly high percentage of high school and college students).

But few people ever remembered ‘businessman’ when they thought of Tony Stark — and if they did, it was along the lines of ‘what cool thing has he invented this time?’, not his prowess and skills in the art of business.

Or his utter ruthlessness.

When four extremely brave, exponentially stupider men took it upon themselves to abduct Peter Parker, the entire world was violently reminded of the reputation Tony had earned while he was Stark Industries’ CEO — along with the reminder of why, exactly, SI had been the only company on everyone’s list for weapons, protection, and defense.

Tony had been in the middle of a useless meeting with the Rogue Avengers, one the Council insisted on since ‘things are still tense, Doctor Stark, and we need to make sure that tension doesn’t spill over during a mission’. Which was fine and made sense, only they insisted on having said meetings before the mission/fight/whatever instead of combining it with the post-event debrief. The end result was that everyone but Rogers was always irritable during the aforementioned useless gathering and itching to get the hell out of Dodge.

So when his phone rang, Tony came to his feet so fast, the chair did a complete 360° before crashing into the wall, and he’d answered before the echo died.

“What’s up, Kid?” he asked eagerly, turning his back to the room and ignoring Rogers’ spluttered indignation with the ease of long practice.

At the extended, somehow ominous silence that followed his greeting, Tony’s excitement faded into wary knowledge and his eyes narrowed as he straightened to his full height. Three seats down, James Rhodes sucked in a deep breath and began mentally preparing for battle. He knew that stance and it did not bode well for anyone.

When a cold, mocking laugh was Tony’s answer, instead of Peter Parker’s youthful voice, put on speaker by virtue of FRIDAY’s understanding of her creator, while JARVIS began tracking the call, everyone else went still.

Tony turned into an iron statue.

But he said nothing. He just breathed, slowly and deeply and evenly.

And Rhodes swallowed hard, because the man on the phone had just signed his own death warrant and even if he wanted to, nothing would keep Tony from pulling the trigger. Not when Peter was at stake.

After perhaps 45 seconds, the man finally quit laughing and sneered, “Little Petey’s here, Stark. And he’s . . . cute. But that’s neither here nor there. W—”

“No,” Tony said so calmly, it took everyone several seconds to realize he’d spoken — especially the kidnapper. However, he didn’t get more than a shocked, “What?” out before Tony answered everyone’s question.

And reminded them all of why, exactly, both Tony Stark and Iron Man were feared and revered in equal measure.

“No,” he said again, still unmoving and speaking in that terrifyingly calm voice. “We all know the drill: you have my kid. I won’t insult anyone by denying it. Unless I give you money, weapons, suits, the arc reactor, etcetera, etcetera, you’ll hurt him. I have an impossible amount of time to meet your demands, after which you’ll break your word to return him to me, because you’re as greedy as you are stupid, and figure that since I gave in once, I’m an easy mark and have just become your personal piggy bank.”

He paused, clearly relishing the stunned silence his words had evoked, then added, “Let’s just cut to the chase. No, I am not going to agree to your demands. No, I am not going to negotiate. Yes, Peter agrees with me, because he knows as well as I do that the harm you’ll cause, the damage you’ll do, will be incalculable, and we both refuse to have that on our conscience. So here’s what going to happen: you will walk away, now, and leave him unrestrained and unharmed. If you do, that will be the end of it unless you’re foolish enough to try again.”

Silence.

“If you don’t — if you push me, test me, and hurt him or damage him, I will find you, I will eviscerate you with my bare hands and livestream it to the world, and there won’t be enough of you left for Google to find a memory. There isn’t a third option,” he coldly informed the caller, oblivious to the icicles forming on the phone screen. “Are you going to be smart and choose Option A and live? Or do I get to test my new lasers and see how long it will take to remove your large intestine through your left nostril?”

Another long, shocked silence was his answer, but it was finally broken by the truly stupid false bravado of a man who has realized he’s put himself between a rock and a hard place — and both of them are covered with poisoned razor blades.

“You have to find us first!” he growled before abruptly hanging up.

Tony didn’t even blink. He looked at the closest camera and said, “Well?”

Romanova answered first. She was scowling fiercely at her phone as she hissed, “We didn’t have enough time. You should have kept him on the line another 11 seconds, Stark.”

Almost everyone in the room pivoted to give her the same dumbfounded look, unable to believe she’d just said that.

Everyone but Tony, that is. He laughed. It was contemptuous and he didn’t even bother to look up from his own phone as he drawled, “Really, Nat? Are you still that egotistical? Do you honestly think your little SHIELD premade hacking worm is better than my AI? Better than me? Or do you still believe your little toy really hacked my systems instead of me letting you in to a very specific section so you wouldn’t give yourself an aneurysm every time you failed to get past my first firewall?”

Rhodes had to physically shove his fist in his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing at the look on her face. Shock, indignation, fear, anger, realization . . . she clearly heard the truth of that brutal assessment and couldn’t think of a damned thing to say. So she salvaged the three scraps of her dignity that were left and regally sat back down, ignoring Tony and giving Rogers her full attention.

Showing his frightening obliviousness and a startling lack of leadership, Rogers started to lay out a battle plan, clearly thinking he was the one in charge.

And once again, he was utterly ignored by Tony.

“All right, J, will two suits and War Machine be enough?” he asked, tapping something on his phone before shoving it in his pocket and shrugging his blazer off as Rhodes stood up and went to his side. Behind them, Rogers spluttered.

“Tony, no! You can’t just go in, guns blazing! We have to have a plan!” he exclaimed, sounding affronted and looking so earnest, it hurt. Rhodes couldn’t keep from gaping at the idiot, both in disbelief that he’d actually said something that stupid AND that he so clearly meant it. Coming from the man who had, until three weeks ago, never filled out a single mission report after blundering into more situations than anyone could count, while causing untold death, destruction, and problems, the hypocrisy was breathtaking.

It wasn’t surprising, mind. But it was breathtaking.

“I have no intention of doing something that stupid because I’m not you,” Tony absently replied, not even bothering to turn his head as he stalked to the door. “Genius, remember? Unlike you, I can think about more than one thing at a time. It’s called ‘multitasking’. I’m also aware that options other than ‘punch it’ are available. I’ve already got a plan that JARVIS has verified should work, a backup plan just in case, and Rhodey’s backup plan if something goes seriously wrong and we actually need it. You just . . . sit there and look patriotic. You’re almost good at that.”

With that parting shot, Tony stormed out the door, Rhodes at his side, and they were suited up and headed to Peter’s location in less than two minutes. The Tower was locked down behind them, not that it would have mattered in the end. But nobody needed to deal with the Rogues while they were rescuing Peter.

FRIDAY, bless her vicious, vindictive, protective little heart (aided JARVIS’ darker, more dangerous understanding of the stakes), decided to show the group their utter irrelevance by playing the whole thing out on the giant screen in the conference room once Tony and Rhodes arrived at the site, taking copious records — in the form of photos and a few videos — of the Rogues’ reaction to seeing Tony Stark, strategist and father, in ruthless, implacable action. He’d been utterly serious in both of his threats, something the kidnappers had disregarded to their deaths, and he didn’t hesitate for a second in carrying them out.

When he’d seen his son’s limp, bloody body, flames erupted from the walls and his horrified abductors realized they were trapped.

When they were captured after a short but still deliberately-prolonged game of Tag, they understood they’d never stood a chance.

When they were chained to the wall with the same restraints they’d used on Peter, they thought they were safe, that Iron Man was trussing them up and leaving them for SHIELD to recover.

After a fast but intense argument about who would get Peter safely to Medical, which Rhodes lost by dint of the unassailable logic that he couldn’t do anything to them other than arrest them because he was still active military, War Machine had had gotten a badly-beaten, unconscious Peter out of the building. Alone with the men who had taken his son, hurt him, and used him against his father, Tony let his last shred of restraint go.

And smiled as the knowledge that they were wrong about what was about to happen, that they had been dead men walking from the second they had concocted their little plan, broke over their pale, sweaty, disbelieving faces.

With Peter not just gone, but not having had the chance to calm Tony’s rage, he had no reason whatsoever to restrain himself. And he needed the world to understand that trying to get to him by using the people he loved Was. Not. Happening.

Eliminating the Ten Rings hadn’t done the trick, because they were a terrorist organization, and a small one at that. Putting Justin Hammer in prison and killing Vanko hadn’t taught the lesson, because Hammer was so incompetent, even the government wouldn’t deal with him, and everyone had seen Vanko coming after Tony; his attack on Rhodes was virtually unknown. Taking out Killian and AIM, who had threatened and hurt Pepper and Happy, hadn’t registered, because everyone had been focused on the attempt on the president’s life, facilitated by his VP.

All of those were reasonable responses, Tony could admit. He didn’t like it, but he could understand it.

And that wasn’t counting the absurd number of assassination attempts and kidnappings, failed and successful, made by your average, greedy person and/or Evil Criminal Organization™.

Unfortunately, understanding it didn’t mean a damned thing when weighed against the fact that people kept trying to hurt his family.

It was time to make the point in clear, unambiguous language: leave Tony Stark and his family the fuck alone. He replayed their conversation and his statement of what he would do if his son were hurt, ensuring that none of them could legitimately snivel about unfair treatment.

They did, of course, because they were all cowards at heart, but Tony’s gentleness had left the building with his son and his brother and he took a dark, malicious satisfaction in reminding them of his promise.

And Tony Stark did not break his promises.

The kidnappers and the Rogues (and eventually the world) learned that eviscerating a man with your bare hands was messy and took about six minutes. It took seventeen minutes and 39 seconds to remove that man’s large intestine through his left nostril.

When he was finally dead, twenty-nine minutes later, Tony raised his head and looked the other three dead in the eyes.

“Are you the only ones or do you work for a larger group?” he asked calmly, eyes clear and face clean above his bloody hands. Two of the men wet themselves and they all whimpered in terror, before one of them choked out, “No. It was just us. We wanted money.”

That earned him a sharp nod before Tony stood up. He arched his back and grunted in satisfaction when his spine popped, then stepped closer to the wall the three men were chained to.

“I’ll know if you lie,” he informed them. “Who else put their hands on my son?”

There were about twenty seconds of panicked silence before the brute covered in seriously ugly tattoos and sporting a long, scraggly beard that looked absurd against his bald head and shaved chest, swallowed and whispered, “I had to hold him down when we put in the chair, but Wendell was the only one who hurt him.”

Tony didn’t blink as he stared deep in the man’s muddy brown eyes, reading him as easily as he read code (and confirmed by JARVIS’ reading of his pulse and blood pressure), before he finally nodded. “Okay,” he said simply, stepping back and going to his suit. A handkerchief, shockingly white against the grime and filth of the room, appeared from nowhere and he quickly cleaned his hands before he turned back to the kidnappers.

“You didn’t hurt Peter, so that earns you a quick, painless death,” he told them. “Don’t bother crying; it’s very personal. I am sick to death of morons like you thinking it’s okay to extort money and weapons and anything else you’re too lazy or stupid to earn yourself, by going after my family. Arresting you assholes clearly hasn’t made an impact, because you keep coming out of the woodwork and making the same demands. Hopefully, killing you will finally get the word out that I am not a man you want to fuck with, because all the civilized rules are off. People try to hurt or abduct me or mine? I will kill you. There will be no arrests or deals or trades. Touch me, come after me, in any way, shape, form, or fashion, and die. The end.”

Tony never raised his voice as he explained the new world order when it came to him. He never looked away from the people who had finally pushed him over the edge as he told them why they were going to die instead of being arrested and sent to a cushy prison for a few years or traded for some commodity.

All three men were staring at him in stunned, disbelieving horror, clearly trying to deny the reality that Tony Stark, Iron Man, wasn’t acting like the hero he was. He was acting just like them . . . and they were terrified.

They had pushed a hero, a good man, too far.

It was the last thought any of them would have.

The aftermath was . . . interesting. Rhodes hugged him for ten minutes, Pepper kissed him so hard and so deeply, they melted the imprint of their entwined bodies into the wall. Cho gave him a look of grim satisfaction, mingled with disapproval that he understood perfectly and didn’t take offense to. Rogers got a low-level repulsor shot to the mouth, courtesy of Rhodes, which silenced the rest of them — including Nick Fury. The president tried to yell at him, but he didn’t get ten words out before Tony replaced Peter’s image with the man’s 9-year old daughter. His voice died in his throat and he didn’t say another word about the subject. And if he spent the next several days hovering over his children, nobody blamed him.

Peter . . . he didn’t like it. In actual fact, he hated it, even though he never knew the full truth behind his torturer’s death. But Tony and Rhodes and Pepper and JARVIS sat down with him and patiently showed him just how many times Tony had been targeted for kidnapping, assassination, blackmail, money, extortion — and how seldom those people were punished when they were arrested, instead being traded for various reasons or pleading out with deals for information. When the number reached 200, Peter broke down and buried himself in his father’s arms, shaking furiously and swearing that he would protect him, no one would ever hurt Tony again.

Tony held his son just as tightly and accepted his oath for what it was, because he had sworn the same.

Most importantly, criminals, evil organizations, would-be bad guys, and greedy, venal people who would steal instead of work, saw the truth of Tony Stark and actually took it to heart. They left him alone.

When other targeted people and their families realized how effective Tony’s method was, especially compared to how ineffective their governments were when it came to prosecution and punishment, well . . . people finally began to understand why the most dangerous man on earth is the good man who has been pushed beyond his limits and released himself from his voluntary control because there is no other choice.

Because when a good man breaks, empires shatter.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

It never ceased to amaze Tony Stark how unutterably, improbably stupid people could be.

And he knew Justin Hammer personally, so his bar was only about an inch off the ground.

But as he stared at Steve Rogers, mouth actually hanging open in absolute, disbelieving shock, he heard that bar hit the ground hard enough to leave a mark.

“I’m sorry,” Barton managed to say, eyes bulging with the same shock Tony was feeling. “But did you actually just say that you’ve decided to make Maximoff an official member of the team? The woman who mind-raped all of us, helped ULTRON, and was a member of HYDRA until about three hours ago?”

Rogers scowled in response to Barton’s disbelief, placing his hands on his hips and taking a few steps forward so he could loom over the archer, lowering both eyebrows in a mien of clear disappointment that made exactly zero impact on the man, who simply stared back, completely un-cowed and even less impressed.

“She helped us,” Rogers said pompously, squaring his shoulders even further so he looked taller and more imposing.

Barton just blinked at him, then said, “What’s your point? She helped us because she didn’t want to die. I agreed to work with her on a temporary basis because we couldn’t fight ULTRON and her and her brother at the same time, and it would have been stupid to waste their abilities when we didn’t have to. But that doesn’t suddenly make her a good guy. She was HYDRA. She volunteered to be HYDRA. And now that the crazy murderbot is gone and Thor managed to knock her out, we can all think clearly again and everyone else has agreed that she either needs to have her ass thrown in prison or we can save everyone a lot of time and money and just kill her now. Either way, she ain’t becoming an Avenger.”

Rogers floundered at that, so visibly stunned at being disagreed with and denied that he actually swayed on his feet, and Tony had to muffle his snort of amusement in his sleeve at seeing the two at odds with each other for what might be the third time ever. He was still bitter about the fact that literally everyone on the team had turned on him when ULTRON first appeared, because the witch hadn’t been full-on mentally controlling any of them at the time. Yes, she’d been influencing them, but by her own admission, all she’d been able to do at the time was feed their existing negative emotions.

Which meant that every one of his so-called ‘teammates’ really did think that little of Tony.

And he was not okay with that.

But he couldn’t deal with that yet; they had to take care of Maximoff first, though Rogers’ continued insistence on her and her dead brother being poor, helpless waifs bamboozled by the evil Nazis of HYDRA was alarming for a lot of reasons — the least of which was the increasing evidence that the witch hadn’t influenced his mind. It looked and sounded like Rogers honestly believed what he was saying, which — well, was alarming.

Also, extremely suspicious.

One of the things people tended to forget about Tony Stark was the fact that he was actually quite skilled in reading people . . . when he wanted to. He just rarely wanted to, because most people annoyed him on general principle. But it was becoming progressively clearer that Rogers was hiding something he wanted and/or needed the witch to help with. And, given his increasingly dismissive, disdainful treatment of Tony since that thrice-damned disaster that was the SHIELD data dump, it didn’t take a genius of his caliber to figure out that whatever he was hiding had something to do with Tony.

But that was neither here nor there at the moment, so Tony shook himself free of his ruminations and focused his attention back on Barton and Rogers, watching with great amusement as the archer shot down the super soldier with a precision the engineer couldn’t help but admire.

“I don’t care about her sob story, Cap,” Barton said slowly, his tone so condescending that even Rogers couldn’t miss it, and the blond scowled furiously, only to flounder again when Barton utterly ignored his displeasure and continued to decimate every ‘point’ the man was trying to use to justify adding the mind-raping HYDRA volunteer from Sokovia to a team of American-based heroes who, among other things, spent considerable time destroying HYDRA. “We all have one. I was an abandoned circus rat before SHIELD found me. Nat survived the Red Room. Banner’s outlasted Thunderbolt Ross. Stark lived through Afghanistan.”

“Exactly!” Rogers exclaimed, looking and sounding vindicated, and the rest of them raised their eyebrows, collectively united in their curiosity as to where this was going. “You all got a second chance, so why shouldn’t Wanda?”

Silence.

“Umm . . . because none of us were mind-raping terrorists,” Clint finally replied, looking and sounding so baffled that Tony actually felt sorry for him. “Yeah, Nat and I were mercs, so we both had to go through psych screenings, training, controlled missions with our handlers literally riding our ass, tests, assessments, and a year of probation before we earned the privilege of officially being considered agents of SHIELD. Also, we didn’t torture people for fun or mind-control them or join terrorist organizations for revenge that makes no sense. And, unlike her, we had no clue that SHIELD and HYDRA were the same, because we aren’t mind readers!”

He had to shout the last part of his sentence, because Rogers was trying to spout the HYDRA crap as an excuse for the woman’s actions.

“Clint’s right, Steve,” Romanova interjected, finally deciding that Barton needed backup, and nodding when Rogers blinked at her, clearly shocked that someone else was disagreeing with him. “Her actions until earlier today are not remotely altruistic. And that’s coming from me. But if she really is remorseful, if she really has changed, then she needs to confess and give what details she can about HYDRA and her and her brother’s missions, and serve whatever punishment she’s earned first, before we can even begin to consider her for the team. Because right now, none of us trust her, and we aren’t going to. Frankly, I’m alarmed that you do, especially given your past with HYDRA.”

If he hadn’t been watching so closely, Tony would have missed it . . . but he was looking, so he saw the warning look Romanova gave Rogers, a look that made him swallow and give a tiny nod in return, and his suspicions rose another notch. Apparently, Romanova knew about whatever Rogers was hiding.

Which meant they’d found something in the Data Dump . . . something they were actively keeping from Tony.

Well, wasn’t that fantastic? Like he didn’t have enough to do. Though, thanks to his own insistence on having multiple backups, along with Vision’s help, he’d managed to restore JARVIS without having to deactivate FRIDAY. Between the two AIs, they’d dig up whatever this little secret was, and Tony would take action then. He tapped a subtle finger against his watch and felt it vibrate as JARVIS, who was listening via Tony’s earpiece, acknowledged his request to start digging for info, something Tony would doubtless join later in filtering out the dirt from the filth.

He had other robots to program right now, though, and JARVIS was . . . well, JARVIS . . . so he pushed that mystery aside and stepped forward, drawing everyone’s attention.

“They’re right,” he said with no preamble, staring Rogers down when he spluttered and not allowing him the chance to argue. “And like hell I’ll have anything to do with a terrorist, a rapist, and someone who has openly stated she wants to kill me for something I cannot have done. No!” he snapped irritably, cutting the obnoxious soldier off before he could launch into one of his self-righteous lectures. “Even if an SI bomb hit her house and not a counterfeit, that doesn’t make me personally responsible. Actually, given the time frame, that bomb would have been one of Howard’s, because I hadn’t taken over design and production yet. But given the fact she claims they stared at it for two days, I can say with 94% certainty that it wasn’t one of ours, because our live weapons don’t fail. On the off-chance it was one of those rare duds that do happen, it was either sold under the table or stolen from the incinerator room. Assuming that’s the case, still not on me. I didn’t aim the weapon or fire it, therefore, it’s neither my fault nor my responsibility. That logic is as stupid as blaming the CEO of the company who made the car that Pepper’s dad totaled when she was a kid.”

He paused to take a breath, watching sourly as Rogers pouted at being so effortlessly outmaneuvered. Good grief. The man was young, yes, but how was it possible he was still this much of a child?!

This little bastard genuinely thought being small and weak was the worst thing that could ever happen to a person — and Tony meant that in every possible way. The truly amazing part was that Rogers didn’t even think being bullied for being small and weak was the tragedy; no, he honestly believed that being born that way to begin with was the worst hardship a man could suffer. And Tony, who had not only been on the small side but was also Howard Stark’s son and the smartest person in any room, had been bullied mercilessly from the time he could start grasping the engineering and mathematical concepts that formed the base of his particular genius abilities — in other words, since he was about eight or nine years old — abruptly found himself completely drained of patience. Then Rogers opened his mouth to bleat again about poor Wanda and how Tony had traumatized her and killed her family with his mean, bad, evil weapons and his selfish behavior, because he had no actual logical, cogent argument to support his point.

And Tony, who kept his temper under extremely tight control, finally snapped. After the day he’d had, on top of the week preceding it, the affronted pout that had formed on Rogers’ blandly perfect face as he moaned and whined about things he did not know a damn thing about, shoved him over the edge.

So he shared a secret he’d never breathed a word about to anyone, not even Rhodes, in his desperation to force Rogers to understand.

“Oh, shut up!” he snapped at the blond, not even taking a second to relish the stunned look he got in response. “You want to talk about damage from my weapons? Well, guess what, Cap? There was a man with me in Afghanistan. The terrorists my godfather paid to kidnap and kill me and had also been selling to for years had a massive stockpile of SI’s weapons — Howard’s, mine, people from R&D — and they weren’t shy about using them on civilians. Yinsen was one of those, but despite the fact that his entire family was murdered by the Ten Rings using at least one of SI’s weapons, he still saved my life and helped me escape — because he understood the difference between malicious intent and bad shit just happening in life. He knew that neither I nor my company had fired that weapon, and we weren’t even directly responsible for it being in the hands of terrorists. My God, Rogers! His entire family was dead and he’d been forced to work for the people who killed them and he still had the humanity and the kindness to help me see what I had allowed myself to become and to finally realize that I was more than my ability to design things that explode!”

Panting from rage and renewed grief, Tony glared at Rogers, feeling his temper spike dangerously high at the stubborn scowl that meant he was being ignored because the other man — Captain America, the walking paragon of truth and justice — didn’t want to hear it, because then he’d have to accept that he was wrong.

A sudden desire to shake him until his brain physically reset overwhelmed Tony and he hissed, “So shut the fuck up about the willing and eager HYDRA volunteer. I already explained why it was highly unlikely to have been one of SI’s bombs that hit her house. But even if it was, I personally did not aim or fire the damn thing, therefore I cannot be held responsible, either legally or morally. Also, exactly what proof do you — or she, actually — have that it was, in fact, an SI bomb? Other than her word, that is, because she’s such a truthful, honest, forthright person,” he spat, frustrated rage swamping him when Rogers continued to stare at him with that mulish expression that meant ‘I’m not going to be wrong even if it means destroying a country’.

Which, given they were currently standing in the ruins of Sokovia because of Rogers’ refusal to listen to Tony . . .

“At least Yinsen knew whose weapons had destroyed his town and his life . . . but he also knew who bore the true fault,” he snarled, gesturing violently in the moron’s face and taking savage pleasure in the fear that abruptly clouded his eyes. “So do not say another word about how poor Wanda is perfectly justified in wanting to kill me for something I literally cannot have done — and don’t you DARE ignore the fact that she and her brother waited eight years to join HYDRA so they could get ‘revenge’. It is her own damned fault that she’s so stupid she believed that HYDRA would honor any of its promi—DON’T SAY A WORD ABOUT THEM BEING SHIELD. EVEN IF SHE THOUGHT THAT AT FIRST, THE MIND-RAPING WITCH READS MINDS!!! SHE KNEW PRETTY DAMN QUICK THEY WEREN’T SHIELD AND SHE. STILL. STAYED!!!”

Nothing. Not so much as a flicker of understanding came from Steve Rogers, and Tony’s chest tightened so much he was honestly afraid for a minute that he was having a heart attack.

But then he saw Barton’s appalled face in his peripheral vision and for whatever reason, it served as a balm for his rage and he calmed down so quickly, he felt a little dizzy.

But he also felt free for the first time since the Chitauri invasion.

Because this little brouhaha had done what neither Pepper nor Rhodes had been able to do and finally forced Tony to see the truth about Steve Rogers. And with that understanding came the immediate but secure decision to cut ties with him in particular, since it was painfully obvious the man didn’t like him — which, whatever — but more importantly, he didn’t trust him or even have basic respect for him. Barton and Romanova weren’t any better, despite the archer’s brief moment of understanding that maybe Tony wasn’t just a rich, entitled asshole who bought anything and everything that caught his eye.

He was still a judgmental, greedy jerk, and she was a turncoat, the end. If she didn’t think it was good for her or make her look good, then she didn’t do it. Then there was Bruce, who despite his genius and the potential for friendship, was a spineless coward — as evidenced not just by the fact that he’d bolted the second ULTRON was defeated, but also by his refusal to acknowledge his own role in the AI’s creation, of top of his refusal to defend Tony against accusations they both knew were BS.

He was also a first-class jerk. He was just more subtle about it (no, Tony still wasn’t over how Banner had treated him after the fiasco with AIM, HYDRA, and Extremis. Quite frankly, he thought his hurt and anger were perfectly reasonable).

And now that he’d allowed himself to see the reality of the people, the team, he’d tried so hard to be a part of, Tony was done. Like hell was he going to keep putting up with that bullshit. His life was stressful enough.

But he digressed.

“More importantly, given she and her brother were actual, literal children at the time, there is virtually no physical way they survived for two days in a destroyed house without eating or drinking anything,” he began, controlling his impatience with effort as he attempted to explain reality to Rogers for the umpteenth time, knowing it was in vain but unable to stop himself. He knew he’d fail, but no one could say he didn’t try, and that would be important when he formally and officially severed ties with the group of backstabbing, bloodsucking parasites.

“The lack of water alone would have killed them. So it stands to reason they were rescued in less than 18 hours and unconscious for a while. When they woke up in a new location, their minds had to come up with some explanation about what happened, and both SI and I were on the news a lot around that time. It’s also entirely possible, though we’ll never know for sure, that HYDRA had infected hospitals and schools and the like, so feeding them certain narratives wouldn’t have been difficult. But even if that last part isn’t true, I didn’t kill her parents, SI bomb or not. And if you try to blame me for it again, I’m going to shoot you in both kneecaps with a repulsor. I get enough crap for being a former weapons manufacturer as it is; I refuse to put up with it from you, the man Howard literally turned into a walking, talking weapon — and the man you don’t badmouth for starting the weapons productions company I inherited. If it was okay for Howard, then it was okay for me,” he snapped, once more shutting the brat up before he could get going.

“All that aside, Barton and Nat are right,” he continued, breathing deeply to keep his temper in check. “She’s a criminal. It doesn’t matter how sorry she is now, she still has to answer for those crimes. And if she really is sorry, she won’t argue or object. She’ll take her punishment and serve her time, and then we can go from there.”

Rogers glowered wordlessly at him, and it only deepened when the Spy Twins came to Tony’s side. At least they were united in this, though Tony still didn’t — couldn’t — trust either of them past the moment. Still, the solidarity was nice, because Rogers was pigheaded enough, not to mention childish enough, to resort to a tantrum to get his way. And as Tony had discovered, it was difficult for one person to stand up to that kind of blind, self-righteous stubbornness, no matter how strong or experienced that person was.

So the backup was appreciated.

Naturally, that was the moment Thor chose to make his entrance. He’d been dealing with Maximoff, making sure she was secured and couldn’t work any of her magic or use her nasty powers on people again. But as grateful as Tony was for his abilities in that regard, he was also uneasy about them.

Because he’d had a lot of time to think after that first battle, and quite a few things bothered him. Some of them he was handling on his own, a few he’d had to accept as unchangeable . . . but Thor’s attitude toward and treatment of Loki lingered, especially when he compared it to the way Thor treated him.

And his contempt of people of science and (ugh) magic, especially compared to his near-reverence of soldiers and warriors, was a huge red flag.

So when he strolled in the room and added his voice to Tony, Barton, and Romanova’s concerns about Maximoff, it wasn’t nearly as reassuring or supportive as it was supposed to be.

“Unfortunately, the red witch feels neither remorse nor regret,” the alien prince declared as he stopped about halfway between Rogers and the others, frowning when Rogers instantly attacked.

“You can’t know that, Thor!” he exclaimed, waving his hands as he glared at his fellow blond. “She changed her mind and helped us defeat ULTRON. Why would she do that if she wasn’t sorry? And, no offense, but you aren’t a mind-reader. How can you possibly know what she’s thinking?”

Thor’s expression grew thunderous (if the pun can be pardoned) and he took a threatening step forward before visibly reining in his temper. Tony was a little disappointed that he didn’t follow through and just smite Rogers, but his next words were almost as satisfying.

“Have care who you insult, Captain,” the alien rumbled, eyes blazing with anger. “Because I am not just the Crown Prince of Asgard. I am also the brother of the Liesmith. I can discern when an elf speaks a falsehood, let alone a pathetic human child.”

And — well.

Despite the undeniable truth of that statement, not to mention Rogers’ constipated look at having still more irrefutable logic being used against him, Tony couldn’t suppress his reaction and snorted sardonically. He instantly drew the full attention of the room and mentally cursed, but shrugged it off a second later. He was Tony Fucking Stark and he was sick to death of the hypocrisy of the people he’d allowed into one of his closer circles.

“You have something to say, Stark?” Thor asked dangerously, crossing his arms and making his chest ripple.

Tony was probably supposed to be intimidated but . . . well, as he’d already mentioned, he was Tony Fucking Stark.

“Yeah,” he shot back, irritated beyond belief now. “You aren’t wrong about Maximoff, but your hypocrisy is choking me. The way you talk about Loki being a magician instead of a warrior, the things you’ve bragged about doing to him, or letting your friends do, is horrifying. Of course, you treat me the same way, but that’s because you think anyone who isn’t a warrior or soldier is useless. Never mind that you can’t function without people like me or Loki once the battle is over; we just exist to serve you and magnify your greatness, right?”

He let the ensuing silence stretch out until it was screaming so loudly in agony that everyone’s ears hurt before giving a visibly-stunned Thor a smile that belonged solely to the Merchant of Death.

“But like I said, you’re absolutely right about Maximoff, and at this precise moment, that’s all I care about. Can you keep her restrained and under control until I can get the legalities sorted out and she’s sent to the proper authorities?”

Thor blinked several times, still clearly stunned, before nodding. Satisfied, Tony nodded back and headed for the door, only to pause when a big hand landed on his shoulder. He went still and loudly, pointedly, cleared his throat, not so much as twitching a muscle until the hand disappeared. A second later, its owner was standing in front of Tony and looking very, very puzzled.

That shouldn’t have been as satisfying as it was, but Tony had decided he was done denying himself enjoyment in the little things, especially after all the bullshit and stress and general poor treatment he’d endured from these people for the last year and a half.

He waited patiently for Thor to speak, but after a good two minutes of awkward silence, he finally arched an eyebrow and said, “What’s on your mind, Point Break?”

Several more seconds of silence was his answer and he sighed. He didn’t have the time for this, or the patience, so he started to walk around, only to be stopped after one step by a plaintive, “You truly think I don’t respect you, Anthony?”

Oh, joy. It looked like they were doing this now. Well, why not? It wasn’t like Thor had suddenly magically developed any respect for him, after all.

So he stopped and looked the man dead in the eyes. “I know you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have kept using your hammer to destroy everything electronic in my home after I explained how damaging its powers are. You wouldn’t show up in the middle of the night and expect me and only me to stop everything I’m doing to make sure you had your damned Pop Tarts before leaving said hammer wherever you dropped it and heading off to your room without even picking up your trash. You wouldn’t sneer at me and laugh when I choose to train with my personal security instead of you, because my people will help me get better, not mock me and make a point of humiliating me for not being a walking ad for the dangers of steroids like you and Rogers. And let’s not forget the mockery because I wasn’t trained almost from birth in fighting, like the Spy Twins," he informed the man, greatly enjoying the gobsmacked look on his face.

"You openly, repeatedly, scorn me for preferring to build things other than weapons, even as you complimented everyone else for their skills with the weapons I did make for them. Oddly, you never complimented my skills in weaponry and you sure as hell never said a single derogatory word to them for not being able to make their own stuff, but that’s because working with your hands and building things, designing things, is beneath the mighty Thor, right? I’ve lost count of the times you’ve declared that warriors and fighters are the only caste that matters and everyone is inferior, especially when they don’t do anything related to fighting.”

Thor’s mouth was hanging open and he looked absolutely appalled, but Tony didn’t notice. His control over his inner thoughts was gone and for maybe the first time, he didn’t care.

“You proved you don’t respect me or even trust me when you listened to everyone but me when you decided I was at fault and picked me up by the throat after ULTRON made his entrance. You could have killed me and I honestly don’t think you would have cared if you had. I’m not a warrior, so I’m useless if I’m not making weapons, and since you don’t think for yourself outside of a battle, you believed Rogers when he mouthed off. Of course, neither of you can spell ‘arc reactor’ without a dictionary and someone holding your hand, but hey! You’re still superior to the lowly engineer who makes everything you do on Earth with regards to the Avengers possible. And that’s just me. I’ve heard you bitch about Loki and how he always sulked and pranked your asshole friends after you and they did something to him, like leave him outside a locked palace in the middle of a monsoon or swap all his clothes for magically-resistant burlap sacks. I don’t even like Loki and I feel bad for the guy! And that’s not including the way you talk about Selvig and even your ‘Lady Jane’, like they’re pets. You think every one of us is defective, deficient, and just overall lacking because we use brains instead of brawn.”

He paused again and this time allowed himself to relish Thor’s ‘just swallowed a basket of overripe lemons’ expression before going in for the kill.

“You’re a bully, Thor. You’re arrogant and uncouth and a royal jerk and — well, frankly, you are not nearly as important or special as you think you are, and you can’t be relied on. If you don’t think someone is worth your precious time, you either can’t be bothered or you make sure we understand how grateful we should be that you deigned to give us the absolute minimum amount of attention it takes to solve the problem or take care of the issue — which you frequently half-ass or make worse because you don’t give it any real attention or care. And then we get to hear about your mighty beneficence for the rest of our lives, because you so graciously rescued us from our own inadequacy.”

“Stop. Please, stop. I—I—no, I—”

Thor looked beyond wrecked, but Tony was unmoved. He folded his arms and tilted his head, staring the prince down despite being a few inches shorter.

To his disbelief, Thor not only didn’t challenge it, he was visibly shaken.

And his next words shocked Tony out of a decade of life.

“I . . . we will speak of the rest later, when there is time for more in-depth explanations,” he declared, looking more serious and more sincere than Tony had ever seen. “I — I do not — damn the timing! I cannot explain in detail now, Anthony, but I have the greatest respect for your intelligence and abilities. But as you just said, you have many good reasons to think otherwise, and I — I dearly regret we don’t yet have time to speak of those reasons. But for now, I must address the most serious issue: what do you mean, I could have killed you?”

His last sentence came out as a demand of royalty, but it was paired with such genuine confusion that it was obvious he had no idea what he’d truly done that day.

Well, hell.

Before Tony could answer, though, Thor had one of his rare flashes of insight and put two and two together.

“And why did none of our teammates object to my actions or speak out to support you?” he demanded, eyes flashing with an anger borne of brand-new understanding. When he turned to demand an answer from the others and got three looks that showed knowledge but not remorse, his anger darkened to rage.

“I see,” he hissed, giving them all a glare of scorching contempt. “Well, ‘tis no wonder I treated you so poorly, Anthony. I didn’t realize it, and certainly didn’t intend it, but I fell prey to the prevailing culture of thought in the room. Norns forgive me, because I truly didn’t know I was still susceptible to that. Despite Odin’s best attempt, it seems I haven’t completely learned the lessons from my past mistakes. I did the same thing with the Warriors Three when it came to Loki, and you and he have much in common. It took entirely too much time and a great deal of unnecessary sorrow and strife, but rest assured that I respect my brother a great deal, Anthony, as I do you,” he vowed, eyes burning with a depth of sincerity Tony hadn’t seen in years. “However, I understand why you don’t believe that, which I will also remedy later, once there is time. And then we will speak with Fury together, because none of these fools are worthy of our attention or our time. But right now, I owe you a wergild for endangering you. Name your price and it shall be yours.”

Everyone’s jaw dropped at that scathing indictment, followed by Barton collapsing into a chair and missing when Thor offered the weregild. Rogers obviously didn’t have a clue what it meant, and Romanova looked legitimately puzzled as well, which Tony tucked away for his later enjoyment. He himself was just as shocked by the offer, but he wasn’t dumb enough to downplay it, much less reject it — especially since he’d just been given a way to control Maximoff without having to deal directly with her.

More importantly, without having to worry about his own safety. Rogers had chosen to ignore it, but Wanda Maximoff wanted Tony dead and if she felt threatened or backed in a corner, she would kill him if it was the last thing she did. He was well-acquainted with that kind of vindictiveness, unfortunately. And then there was Rogers himself, who would also throw a tantrum if Tony tried to exert his own authority or hold Maximoff accountable for any of her actions.

Before he could speak, though, JARVIS found what he was looking for . . . and turned Tony’s world upside down.

That quiet, compassionate voice in his ear, explaining not just the truth of his parents’ death but also the culpability of Rogers and Romanova, made Tony shut down. He’d been dealing with so much crap from so many people and for so long that he had no reserves left. Finding out that not one, but two, of his supposed teammates were hiding something this serious from him — while stealing from him, using his resources, berating his ego, and accusing him of keeping secrets — pushed him so close to the edge of sanity that the Merchant of Death had to take over before Tony Stark destroyed the world in a fit of grief-fueled, betrayal-filled rage.

Thor, however, had several advantages over all of them, and he had just offered them to Tony on a silver platter.

“I accept your offer, Prince Thor,” the Merchant of Death said formally, meeting and holding the man’s gaze. “I need you to keep Maximoff, Rogers, and Romanova safely contained until I can make all of the necessary arrangements for their arrests and imprisonment.”

Thor waited a moment to see if anything else was forthcoming, and when it wasn’t, he offered an equally-formal half bow and said, “So be it, Anthony. Though, may I ask why the captain and the spider?”

The Merchant scoffed and turned his head, pinning each of the traitors with a look that, by rights, should have incinerated them, and intoned in a voice so emotionless, it wasn’t human, “Well, it turns out that they’ve both known for more than a year that Rogers’ old BFF assassinated my parents on HYDRA’s orders. They’ve known and neither one of them has made a single attempt to tell me — but they’ve both gleefully used my money, my equipment, and my resources to look for him. And if that isn’t enough betrayal for you, Romanova has accused me at least once a day for the last year about how my ego is apparently destroying the world when I cite any of my other numerous responsibilities that aren't the Avengers because I’m really not that important — well, until she needs me to do something for her because she doesn’t have the power or connections. And then we have hypocrite Saint Steve, who accused me to my face of keeping secrets from him, while we’re standing on Barton’s hidden farm that his secret family lives on — which Rogers did not say so much as a word to him about — because, somehow, not telling him about a computer program he doesn’t have the knowledge or intelligence to understand is the same thing as keeping the truth of my parents’ murder a secret.”

Somewhere in the middle of this bitter, scathing condemnation, Tony had woken back up, and his voice was shaking with rage and full of tears as he explained to the only person who had no reason to care either way why he was about to put 75% of his so-called team in prison — both of whom were visibly alarmed at realizing that he knew.

But not a shred of remorse or regret could be seen.

Well, that tracked. Tony wasn’t even a little surprised at seeing who they truly were. He hadn’t trusted Romanova since the second he’d learned she was Fury’s pet spider, though he had thought she was at least intelligent enough to understand that without Tony’s support, the Avengers could not be an existing, functioning team. It was a touch disappointing to see how badly he’d misjudged her, but then, he wasn’t perfect or omniscient. And if Romanova had told Barton . . .

At the thought of the archer, his gaze flicked over, and the raw, unmitigated horror he saw in the man’s eyes told him that he hadn’t known. It wasn’t much consolation, and he still didn’t like Barton all that much and trusted him less, but part of him was relieved he didn’t need to destroy him as well.

Thor, when he dragged his gaze back to him, was visibly enraged. He didn’t say another word. He just moved.

Before anyone could blink or try to escape, he sent Rogers to the floor, keeping him there by way of his (ugh) magic hammer, before catching a panicking Romanova in a chokehold that rendered her unconscious in less than a minute. Barton got a hard look that had him holding up both hands and vigorously shaking his head, wordlessly denying any knowledge or complicity in the pair’s betrayal. After a long moment of scrutiny, Thor nodded and went to Rogers, dropping to a crouch behind his prone body and using the same technique to knock him out. Once they were both unconscious, he shifted Mjölnir so that it (she?) kept both of them from escaping, then he looked at Tony as he got to his feet and said, “Give me a few moments to acquire the appropriate restraints for them.”

He politely waited until Tony gave him a somewhat shellshocked nod before leaving the room, already saying some kind of mumbo-jumbo that Tony, after a few seconds, decided against trying to translate. As long as it kept the two betrayers contained, he didn’t care if Thor stripped down naked and did a goat sacrifice. As he turned back to the table and pulled out his phone so he could start making some of his own calls, he caught a glimpse of Barton’s stricken face and felt a pang of sympathy. But when he heard again the man’s snide comments about buying friends because nobody could stand him without his money making it worth their while and mocking his ‘pitiful, but justified, status as consultant’ instead of ‘teammate’, his sympathy shriveled up. Yeah, it had to suck to know that his partner had kept this from him . . . but she was a turncoat. It was literally the third thing mentioned in her SHIELD dossier. Natasha Romanova did what was best for her, first, last, and always. And for whatever reason, she hadn’t trusted Barton to keep this secret.

Again, this was more satisfying than it should have been, but remembering once more all the crap and grief and hostility he’d been forced to take from every single fucking one of them during this ULTRON fiasco was enough to kill any deeper emotions of friendship Tony had felt not even a week ago. It was long past time for them to learn their actions had consequences. And Tony was done taking the blame in their stead. He deserved better, something that Thor, of all people, had forced him to understand by his simple acceptance of his own wrongdoings with regard to Tony.

Sure, Tony had had to spell them out in words of one syllable, but once he had, Thor had accepted it. He hadn’t argued or accused Tony of being childish (like Rogers) or egotistical (say ‘hi’, Romanova) or trying to buy acceptance (screw you, Barton). He’d just nodded, took responsibility, and offered to make amends in the best way he could.

And Tony? Yeah, he could work with that. He was hardly a saint — but then, he’d never claimed to be. And he sure as hell wasn’t the only sinner.

By the time Thor returned about fifteen minutes later, armed with three sets of magically-enhanced restraints, three of the muzzles they’d used on Loki, and his highly unimpressed mother (who Tony unabashedly fell just a little in love with, which made Pepper laugh in glee . . . until she met Frigga. Two minutes after that first handshake, she had joined Tony in his worshipful adoration. For her part, Frigga was delighted to have acquired two more children and they all grew quite close, despite living on different planets).

The trials of Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanova, and Wanda Maximoff weren’t conducted in secret, but Tony (and possibly Frigga and Loki, who had at some point befriended Crowley, to Aziriphale’s gentle amusement and the rest of the universe’s horror) had worked a moderately-big miracle and kept it out of the news until the day the verdicts were announced.

However, Pepper’s administrative and organizational skills were paired with Tony’s ability to strategize, sharpened by his vindictive, but righteous, demand for justice, and together, they scheduled the structured, tiered release of the sins of Nick Fury, Peggy Carter, and SHIELD to happen an hour before the official broadcast.

Suddenly, the scandal that resulted from America’s golden hero being branded a liar, a murderer, and a traitor was dropped in favor of the bigger scandal of one of America’s favorite feminine icons also being revealed as a liar, a traitor, and someone who would get in bed with literally anyone if it would advance her personal interests.

And so it happened that the executions of Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanova, and Wanda Maximoff went virtually unnoticed, something that satisfied Tony so deeply that he actually took a week off work and spirited Pepper to a private island where they quietly eloped, had a quiet honeymoon, and just as quietly returned . . . only for the news of their change in marital status to be overshadowed by Nicholas Fury’s execution for treason, Peggy Carter’s posthumous disgrace from also being branded as a traitor, and the complete decimation of SHIELD. Somewhere in the middle of that, Thaddeus Ross was arrested, charged, and convicted of a veritable plethora of crimes, because his daughter had more than enough proof, and his threats against her were no longer something she had to fear.

Then, a truly astonishing thing happened. With the biggest distractions and loudest obstacles silenced, Tony was able to talk to Thor about so many things, particularly the armada he’d seen through that portal. For his part, Thor — having been thoroughly humbled in many areas and forced by his mother to apprentice and intern with several different leaders in several different industries on several planets in the Realm, where he swore he’d learned more in three years than he had in his entire life prior to that — listened intently, conferred with other experts and contacts across the galaxies, and confirmed Tony’s fears and suspicions. Once the initial flurry of panic had died down, cold pragmatism took its place, backed by a deep-rooted conviction that the purple ballsack was not going to win, and preparations began.

It was the greatest collaboration of minds the universe had ever seen, one that Tony found himself leading, though for the life of him, he never did understand how or why he had been chosen. But as always, he rose to the task and, for only the second time in his life, was able to unleash the full measure of his genius.

So, when Thanos came to Asgard, he was destroyed by a truly diabolical trap devised by Tony, Loki, and Crowley (the universe trembled the day the three of them got together for a drink and quickly formed SI’s version of The Golden Trio) before he knew what had happened.

The Tinker, the Tailor, the Soldier, and the Spy went on with their lives: building relationships, forming connections, finding their places, and just . . . living.

The universe thrived.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Hide and Go Seek

The first time Tony Stark overheard Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD and all-around tyrannical asshole, bemoaning his completely unexpected lack of reaction to Steve Rogers’ self-righteous posturing, bullying, and undeserved arrogant superiority, he laughed so hard, he got a literal stomachache. It was so hilarious, in fact, that he had JARVIS save the soundbite for rainy days and the times when life kicked him too hard and he needed a pick-me-up.

The second time he heard it, a few days later, he was both highly amused and equally confused; his opinion of Fury as a person was down there with his thoughts on Justin Hammer and Senator Stern, but he’d thought the man at least had the brains and intelligence to do his job. He and Fury both knew that Romanova’s ‘profile’ of him was complete and utter BS, though it was even odds on whether she believed it — and Fury had known Howard for at least a few of his later years. Given these facts, it stood to reason that Fury was an ass, not an idiot.

Or maybe susceptible to wishful thinking was a better description.

Well, whichever it was, finding out otherwise was disconcerting, though it helped make Tony’s decision regarding the so-called Avengers much easier — especially since Rogers hadn’t changed away from the scepter’s influence, and Romanova was still too arrogant and overconfident to see her own failings, and apparently Hill had the same character flaws. Yeah, no. Tony had better things to do than deal with these egomaniacs.

Still, watching Romanova and Hill grimace in solidarity with Fury, while Rogers looked constipated, as the director bemoaned the fact that yet another of his heavy-handed tactics to get Tony under his control had failed so spectacularly, Tony couldn’t help but shake his head. Even though it was Fury’s own damned fault for thinking that everything had to be a game or a scheme or a plot instead of simply asking, seeing him appear so downtrodden was a little pitiable.

Well, okay, ‘little’ was overstating it. Maybe a tad.

Nah, more like a smidge.

Or a soupçon.

Yeah, that was right.

A soupçon was the limit of Tony’s sympathy for Nick Fury.

But he digressed.

Having both arrived late on purpose and accidentally digressed longer than he’d intended, Tony entered more than a little fashionably late, and was promptly set on by Rogers for his disrespect, which he rolled his eyes at. The great irony here was, his reputation in the media notwithstanding, Tony took meetings seriously.

But only when they were actually necessary. Of the eight yearly board meetings SI had mandated, only three of them were truly needed. Two of them could be summed up in an email and the remaining three should actually be done just with the department heads. But if they did that, the board wouldn’t feel nearly as important, and that just wouldn’t stand. Heaven forbid people whose names nobody outside of SI knew feel less important.

But that was beside the point. Tony attended the three genuinely important board meetings and all other meetings that actually required his presence.

This one?

Was neither of those things. Its purpose was to let Fury assert his dominance, establish Rogers as his puppet and figurehead, and get SHIELD’s hooks back into Tony, via Romanova and also the promise of 'being a real Avenger', but with no follow-through.

So when Rogers made a snide, inane comment about Tony’s actions in donating money to the many and sundry relief efforts, along with mobilizing his own forces via the Nesniyoh Foundation, instead of risking his safety and creating unnecessary distractions by moving debris by hand, Tony just scoffed. That power play was so blatant, even Hill looked embarrassed.

Rogers, however, took it as the insult it was and puffed up in righteous indignation.

“You’re a disgrace to Howard,” he declared, looking down his unnaturally straight nose at Tony. “He cared about people, not showboa—”

When Tony doubled over, howling with laughter, the sanctimonious fool tapered off and everyone in the room gave Tony matching confused looks. The sight set him off again and it was a good three or four minutes before he regained control and wheezed, “Oh, JARVIS, send that recording to Rhodey and save it to my private server. That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week and I listened to Stern’s last press conference.”

Fury choked and so did Rogers, while Romanova and Hill gave him wary looks, unable to figure out why he was amused instead of cowed and unnerved at their inability to read him. Tony bared his teeth in a grin that grew to a smirk when they both involuntarily shrank back, before he turned to Rogers and explained a few things about life to him.

“That was great, Rogers. Really, that might be the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard — because, you see, you’re dead wrong. Howard Stark did not give a damn about people. That just wasn’t his style. Now, did he take care of his employees? Of course,” Tony began, watching with great interest as Fury’s expression morphed from irritation to confusion, while Rogers remained confused, constipated, and insulted. “Without employees, there was no company, and without the company, he had no money, no livelihood. But on a personal level, Howard didn’t give a damn about them as individuals. No, wait, I know,” he said as an aside to Fury, who had opened his mouth to object. “'But he spent the rest of his life looking for Rogers!’. That’s what you were going to say, right?”

Unwillingly, slowly, the man nodded, and Tony nodded back before gleefully puncturing that balloon with a Jericho missile.

“Well, of course he did. And yeah, he did tell me quite often how Rogers was a stand-up guy, because he hadn’t learned to read people when they met, didn’t know him that long, and because time has a way of dulling the edges. Mostly, it was because he was trying to get me to behave in the exact opposite way I was, which he thought Rogers was the best example of. But he wasn’t looking for Rogers. He was trying to find the shield. The thing is worth a fortune and made of metal so rare, it’s a statistical impossibility. Howard wanted it back, because the possibilities for the vibranium are virtually unlimited.”

He stopped there and, for one of the few times in his life, allowed himself to just enjoy the stunned, horrified understanding that smacked into all three SHIELD agents, along with the denial that filled Rogers’ eyes, darkly shadowed by fear, before clapping his hands and straightening.

“So, now that that’s settled, let’s take care of the rest, because I have other places to be, Nicola Furiosa. You want me to ‘consult’ for your little boyband, meaning weapons, armor, and housing, with no payment from SHIELD and no official say in how things are run. The answer is ‘no’. And if you ask again, I’ll raze you and the entire organization to the ground.”

All the humor left his face and voice as he leaned forward, pinning the one-eyed tyrant with a cold, implacable look.

“I’m not joking, Fury, nor am I speaking metaphorically. If I wanted to deal with shadowy agents who have their own agenda and don’t care about hurting me, my family, or my employees, I would’ve let Stane live. I’ve been more than lenient in giving you multiple chances to grow up and act like mature adults who can work with other people instead of playing puppet-master from the shadows, and you’ve blown every single one of them. This is your third strike, Nicky. You’re out. I don’t care what you do, as long as you don’t go around killing and hurting innocent people in the process, but I refuse to be involved. So I’m gonna take my ‘consultant’ status and my shield, because it belongs to the Stark family and I can and will prove it, so shove it, Rogers, and go back to my titanium alloy tower. Don’t call me and don’t show up unannounced, and don’t you dare try to infiltrate my company again. If you do, I will end you.”

With that, he rose from his chair, strode over the shield resting by Rogers’ chair like it was a billion-dollar security blanket — really, what idiot brings an irreplaceable weapon to a standard board meeting? — and picked it up, ignoring the man’s spluttered protests with the ease of long practice. He was tense as he headed for the door, because Rogers had stood up and was clearly preparing to physically try to take his giant Frisbee back. He also wouldn’t put it past one — or all — of the SHIELD brats to try to shoot him, especially in the back, but JARVIS had anticipated that and deployed his suit to meet him at the door . . . and the weapons were primed.

He left behind a dead-silent room full of people who were all mentally scrambling to figure out what the hell they were supposed to do now, silence that quickly exploded into overlapping voices of sheer panic, absolute disbelief, and a level of outrage that was so disproportionate, Tony found himself wondering what the real story was. He and JARVIS proceeded to dig into SHIELD’s databases and quickly stumbled across the not-so-hidden secret of HYDRA. From there, it was a short hop first to the Winter Soldier, and then his list of missions — all successful — and from there, it was a literal cakewalk to see that Peggy Carter had not only known the truth behind the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark (among many, many others), as did Fury, she had been active in the cover-up.

Tony stopped personally digging at that point, because he knew he needed to get the hell out of the country before he preemptively kept his promise to annihilate the SHIELD-infected cesspool that was HYDRA, but Rhodes tempered his homicidal rage with the reminder that they needed to find everything and get it to the best, or at least appropriate, authorities, because Tony wasn’t the only person who deserved justice.

Or vengeance.

Begrudgingly, he listened and took Pepper for a two-week vacation to his favorite private island, and let Rhodes and JARVIS finish decimating SHIELD — who, true to form, were desperately attempting to bury everything bad while vilifying him for stealing Rogers’ shield, the symbol of righteousness and the only banner SHIELD would rally behind, to use for his own selfish gain. Rather appropriately, the children’s game of Hide and Go Seek had begun.

If his laughter on hearing that was dark and bitter, no one commented on it.

And when it was time for Tony to step forward in front of the world and explain to Fury and Hill and Coulson and Rogers exactly why their world was being destroyed directly by his hand, he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t offer any pretty speeches or pithy last words. He looked each of them in the eye and smiled as he melted down the idol that SHIELD had destroyed itself for.

When it was nothing but a smoking cylinder of molten liquid, he leaned forward, just a little.

And whispered, “Olly, olly, oxen free.”

Game over.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

(it’s too late to) apologize

It was hard to make Peter Parker angry.

This was a universally acknowledged fact, and one that was subsequently abused by far too many people: Flash Thompson, May Parker, Tony Stark, the various and sundry criminals of Queens, a disproportionately high percentage of the staff and student body of Midtown . . . in all honesty, Ned Leeds was the only person in Peter’s life who didn’t take undue advantage of his generous, forgiving nature. Being both a human being and Peter’s best friend, he did occasionally use that nature to his advantage, but it was just that: rare, and it was also something that Peter did in return.

After all, best friends who knew each other down to their souls still had the odd fight and disagreement, or just a really bad day.

Which was why, ironically, Peter was angry now.

The Rogue Avengers had been pardoned by the US President in an act of political desperation. The rest of the world hadn’t played along, however, so the end result was that no charges were filed, but not a single member of the Rogues could leave New York City for three years, much less the country, and they couldn’t function as a superhero team until after their house arrest had ended and all the required mental, physical, and psychological evaluations had been passed. Then, the existing teams had to vote on whether or not to accept a request to join them, which — as Luke Cage wryly observed to Stephen Strange — meant that no matter who did what and how well, the Rogues were destined to remain teamless, friendless, and homeless (other than Barton, who had been forcibly retired this time, and Maximoff, who had been given to a supremely-unimpressed Wong and not heard from since).

In other words, they were UN-sanctioned parasites, with Tony Stark getting stuck with the bill by virtue of his own too-generous nature and tendency to take on guilt and responsibility that weren’t his.

Peter had long known these traits his mentor carried and loved him even more for it — but it worried him as well, because he’d seen both firsthand and in old recordings just how badly said parasites had treated him. Romanova in particular had a true talent for gaslighting and manipulation, and Rogers had the uncanny ability to project his opinion directly onto another person. Add Maximoff’s lack of ethics or restraint in using her nasty mind magic, Banner’s cowardice and deflection of blame and responsibility, Wilson acting as Rogers’ mouthpiece, disguised as a ‘neutral party’ but never finding Tony innocent or anyone else at fault, and Barton’s solid backing of Romanova and Rogers and near-rabid defense of Maximoff, and the end result was that Tony firmly believed he was the sole reason the team had disintegrated.

But he was also the reason why the Accords, with their sensible, carefully considered and even more carefully written rules and regulations, were not only still in effect, but thriving, with eleven active superhero teams scattered across the globe and doing excellent work.

Something else that the Rogues blamed him for, in ways both subtle and not, because he had succeeded so well without them — and in spite of them.

And okay, fine. Peter hated knowing that those people had done so much damage and caused so much harm to Tony, on top of the destruction they’d wreaked throughout the world at large. This was made exponentially worse because he knew that none of them had ever liked Tony, not from the beginning, and they’d certainly never trusted him, or even respected him, and Peter took serious issue with that.

The actual problem in this instance, though, was James Rhodes.

And that was the root of Peter’s anger.

Because, see, he had a best friend, one who would do literally anything it took to keep Peter safe, as long as it didn’t require hurting another person. Well, okay, an innocent person. If keeping Peter safe meant letting Flash do a full belly flop off the top of the gym bleachers, Ned would record it while saving Peter and never have a second of regret. In short, Ned knew Peter inside out and backwards, and had no problem calling him out when he was wrong.

But he would also defy death itself to defend Peter when he was in the right.

As long as Peter could remember, he’d heard of the bond of brotherhood between Tony Stark and James Rhodes. Best friends since college, would do anything for each other . . . the stories were many, and carried the same theme: Tony Stark and James Rhodes were brothers.

And yet, here Peter was, listening to Rhodes justify some of the Rogues’ actions by agreeing with a guilt-ridden, traumatized Tony that — and Peter quoted, here — ‘mistakes were made on all sides and we all acted badly. It’s time to accept that and move on’.

Which, yeah, on paper, that sounded great. Hold hands, sing kumbayah, skip off into the sunset, one big happy family.

Only . . . Peter had done his research. A lot of it. And while he fully admitted he was biased, as Tony Stark was his mentor (and edging ever-closer to father, but they didn’t talk about that), he wasn’t a blind follower. He had no qualms in acknowledging when Tony screwed up, at least to himself. But in all of his scouring through recordings and records and conversations pertaining to the Accords, he couldn’t find a single thing that Tony had done wrong or made a mistake on.

So hearing Rhodes throw his supposed brother under the bus . . . well, it upset the young man. A lot. Had he been the Hulk, the entire group — with one obvious exception — would have been a broken, bloody pile of useless limbs in the medbay for the next month.

But how to solve the problem? What could possibly force that bunch of arrogant, entitled, self-satisfied assclowns to see the truth? What would be the catalyst to show Rhodes that he was hurting Tony more than the Rogues ever could? It wasn’t like Peter could web them upside down from the side of the Tower and leave them there until they had no choice but to accept the fact that the only real wrongs committed were by them.

It was so, so very tempting but . . . he couldn’t do that.

Could he?

It took Ned, who now despised the Rogues as deeply as Peter did, a lot more time and effort than either of them expected, but he finally managed to talk his best friend down from the oh-so-tempting idea of ‘webbing them upside down on the Tower’s exterior’ — which he had, in fact, sketched out a plan for — to ‘summoning them to a conference room and webbing them in place so they can’t escape the proof, evidence, and prepared rebuttals Peter had at his disposal’.

So that was what he did.

The day in question, after all the preparations had been made and Ned had calmed down from his ‘OMGI’mgoingtobeinthesameroomwithTonyStark!!!’ excitement, Peter sent out a group text, calling a briefing about a new criminal that was rumored to be making an appearance that night, complete with alien weapons and bad puns.

Hey, it wasn’t a lie. Just because the Rogues didn’t know they were the criminals didn’t mean they weren’t, and ‘alien weapons’ had a really broad definition. Ned just snorted in amusement when Peter presented this logic and went back to work setting up his laptop and getting the PowerPoint ready. While FRIDAY could and would provide the individual statistics when Peter needed them, Ned had successfully argued that having an actual human, working a computer that could be seen, with data that correlated, would be more effective than asking this particular group of people to trust one of Tony’s inventions — especially one that did not paint them in a good or positive light.

Plus, the Rogues were wary about any and all AIs now, citing ULTRON as their reason, and while Peter (and Ned) thought they were unbelievably stupid for it, both young men understood their minds wouldn’t be changed quickly or easily and so it just made sense to do things the old-fashioned way. If nothing else, it would increase the odds that at least a few of them would accept the facts being presented to them.

Well.

In theory.

Peter wasn’t holding his breath. Ned did and got the hiccups.

The sound of many footsteps heading their way caught Peter’s attention and brought him back to the present and he looked up alertly, gaining Ned’s attention as well, and the pair exchanged a long, knowing look.

It was time.

Let the truth be told.

~~~

“Okay, I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’re here,” he said cheerfully to the webbed-down occupants of the table, only to let his pleasant mask drop to pin Rogers with a hard glare as he opened his mouth. “That was a rhetorical question,” he snapped, raising his eyebrows at the bewildered look that crossed his annoyingly handsome face. Understanding dawned on him a second later and he sighed. “It wasn’t intended to be answered,” he explained, shaking his head briskly before turning his attention to the rest of the room.

“So, why we’re here,” he continued in his original tone of voice, making everyone wince, even though none of them quite knew why. “It’s because everybody keeps going on and on and on about how the situation leading up to the split is ‘complicated’ and how ‘mistakes were made on all sides’. Which is fine, great even. But as someone looking in from the outside, that is very unhelpful. Because, see, if I, a potential new recruit to the team, don’t know the specifics of the problem or what mistakes were made and by whom, then how can I, or any future teammates, stop it from happening again?”

Silence.

Tony’s eyes were wide with dismay and resignation, which made protective anger flare in Peter’s chest, especially when his mentor made no effort to object or protest. He sagged in his chair, looking like he’d finally given up, and it took considerable control to keep his face neutral instead of giving Tony the reassurance and support he deserved, but unfortunately, this was the most effective way to teach the lesson to everyone.

Particularly Tony, who needed to understand that there was one person — no, there were two. Ned would defend Tony Stark to the death as well, so long as he didn’t hurt Peter for some unfathomable reason. Tony had two people who had his back unconditionally and it was long past time for him — and everyone else — to learn that fact.

So Peter took a deep breath and mentally fortified himself before letting his gaze touch each person at the table, enjoying the various looks of alarm, concern, worry, disapproval, rage, and trying-way-too-hard-to-be-neutral, before stopping on Sam Wilson.

“Let’s start with you, Mr. Wilson,” he said pleasantly, watching with well-concealed satisfaction as the man grimaced at the reminder of his status as a dishonorably-discharged former member of the military. “You’ve been quite vocal in the last several days about forgiving mistakes, so I would like to hear what yours was. What mistake did you make that helped cause the breaking of the team?”

Wilson went dead still, his pupils blowing wide in alarm, and Peter nodded in satisfaction. He’d been right, and that was the main reason he’d chosen this as his method to force the issue.

“Listen, Son—”

Quick as a snake, Peter fired a web at Rogers’ mouth, glowering at the man as he made a muffled sound of protest.

“I’ve told you six times not to call me that,” Peter snapped, eyes sparking with anger. “Are you deaf?”

It was impossible to tell beneath the web covering his lips, but it appeared that Rogers was startled as he shook his head, saying something else that was muffled beneath the makeshift gag.

“You’re not?” Peter gasped in faux surprise, slapping a hand over his heart in such fake dramatics that even Romanova cracked a smile, while Tony snorted into his coffee and Ned cackled behind him. “So you’re stupid?”

The righteous mini-rant that question elicited was hilarious, albeit completely unintelligible, and Peter waited it out calmly, though his amusement faded around the third minute.

“So . . . not deaf and not stupid,” he said slowly, once Rogers tapered off on realizing that despite his best efforts, the webbing wasn’t going anywhere. “That means you’re just a jerk who doesn’t respect other people. Gotcha. Well, Mr. Jerkface Rogers, you get to stay gagged until I’m ready to speak to you, so suck it up. You’ve pissed me off, so it’s gonna take a while before I get to you.”

That handled, he ignored the ensuing indignant grunt and returned his attention to Wilson, who was so incredibly uncomfortable that Peter felt sorry for him.

For a whole millisecond, maybe two.

Because then the Falcon (using technology stolen from Stark Industries and not a single apology was ever offered for said theft) cut his eyes to Rogers and took strength from what he saw there, squared his shoulders, and said, “I should have learned more about the Accords before assuming they were bad. I didn’t trust Stark or Ross, but they aren’t the UN and I never even thought about that. When Ross is involved, it’s bad news, and that’s all I considered. And Stark was backing him up, trying to make up for ULTRON and Sokovia — I mean, why else would they have been called the Sokovia Accords? And between them, I thought that meant there was no way they could be anything good or something that was legitimate for us, the actual Avengers.”

Peter blinked. Several times.

That was . . . wait. Wait a minute. A grown man, former military at that, assumed that one bad officer meant an entire international document was worthless? How stupid could anyone possibly be?!

He had just opened his mouth to ask that question when he caught a glimpse of a still-gagged Steve Rogers and abruptly recalled that Wilson had taken the position of ‘yes-man’ for him and consequently — not to mention proudly — believed every word he said.

Right. He kept forgetting that not everyone’s bar for intelligence was Tony Stark. Too many people had appallingly low standards.

Still . . . Wilson should have known better, and everyone (with the probable exception of Rogers) knew it. That said, even after . . . strongly encouraging him . . . to participate in this little exercise in Truth, Peter didn’t think he really meant it. Something about the way he said it, something in his voice, sounded fake. Rehearsed. Like it was something you’d say to a panel of people from the UN that had the power to decide if prison was in your immediate future.

Time to test that theory.

“And Mr. Stark?” he asked, tilting his head and giving Wilson a bland look. “What was his mistake?”

Not a second of hesitation.

“He went behind our backs to do the Accords, because he was trying to make up for ULTRON and Sokovia, which he refuses to admit are his fault. He tried to make us responsible for his bad decisions and his guilt.”

Peter blinked.

Tony blinked.

Rhodes blinked.

Vision blinked.

Lang blinked.

Ned blinked.

FRIDAY blinked (via the camera in the room).

Romanova did not blink.

Rogers nodded vigorously, though at least he didn’t try to speak this time.

Peter blinked again.

Wow. Okay. That — that explained so much.

And this was going to be EPIC.

“Ned,” he said cheerfully, grinning faintly when Wilson shifted, uneasy without knowing why. “Pull up the first public notice about the Accords resolution, please. The one on the official website. And highlight the date and initial reason for the suggestion.”

His Man in the Chair gleefully obliged and a few seconds later, showing in startlingly clear resolution, was the opening document of an official UN resolution — logo, document number, watermark, page number, and all — with the date highlighted in the offensive green that manufacturers the world over think is a good color for making important things show up.

Said date is 01/22/2013.

A click, and a second page appeared next to it, with the same document number identifying it and the number ‘3’ showing on the bottom right-hand corner. A moderately-small paragraph was selected, this time in equally obnoxious pink.

The basis for this suggested resolution is a direct result of the alien attack on New York City last May, less than a year after the events of Puente Antigua. Not only was a nuclear missile launched against the city, which would have caused untold amounts of damage without actually solving the problem, but a group of six individuals were the sole defense against said attack, and they clearly had, and have, no oversight. There was obviously no commander giving them orders or instructions, and if they had decided to join the attackers, the world would have had zero defense or protection against them.

Lang went white, clearly understanding the implications, while Wilson swallowed hard and looked ill.

“No,” he choked, shifting as much as he could in the chair. “No, the Accords were because of ULTRON!”

Being the awesome tech guy that he was, Ned immediately pulled up a second document, this one dated less than six weeks from the data dump that Rogers and Romanova had done. The UN’s scathing indictment (in blue, which was better, but still an obnoxious shade) of their idiocy, lack of working brain cells, forethought, or even an iota of common sense between them was clear and unambiguous, and the word ‘accords’ was introduced for the first time. Tony Stark wasn’t mentioned once, but Rogers and Romanova were both listed as compelling reasons to draft international rules and laws for individuals with special abilities and powers but, with their destruction of SHIELD, no supervision, given the international scope of both their crimes and their stupidity.

Romanova was impassive. Rogers’ muffled objection was ignored, and so was Wilson’s desperate denial.

The next page was three weeks after ULTRON, and it cited strong concerns about both Steve Rogers’ leadership and Wanda Maximoff. Tony Stark’s name appeared, but only in the context that he was the sole member of the Avengers who had actually stepped up to offer explanations, apologies, and assistance. He wasn’t the leader of the team, so he could not control or even command them, which only increased the UN’s already deep concerns. The addendum about the investigation into his part in creating ULTRON, for which he had been cleared, was a footnote that only Romanova, Rhodes, and Lang noticed.

That was where the discussion of creating a set of laws, rules, and regulations for enhanced individuals became a reality. The motion to create an international agreement — a set of accords, meant to offer all countries equal options about who they did or did not want to invite inside their borders in the case of an emergency — was made, seconded, and passed with 100% majority.

Four months later, the first mention was made of bringing Tony Stark, Charles Xavier, Reed Richards, and a few others in as consultants, which resulted in a lot of uncomfortable shifting in seats and cleared throats.

Peter and Ned were relentless, because mistakes had most definitely been made. A ton of them.

But not by Tony.

And they were sick and tired of watching him be thrown under the bus and run over a few dozen times while the responsible parties blithely ignored their part in things.

Ned actually giggled as he tossed up a copy of Rogers’ email, showing the 127 attempts Tony made to contact him about the Accords, beginning about two months after he first started to consult on them — approximately six months after the first draft was begun. It also showed that Rogers opened the first two and deleted them without a reply, followed by a video of him asking JARVIS to automatically delete anything pertaining to the Accords — or rather, that ‘complicated legal jargon they use to make the little guy feel stupid’. Ned then showed Romanova getting 89 — no, sorry, 88 — of the same emails, CC’d with Rogers. She opened all of them, but they were deleted without any reply. Wilson had 32 tries, none of which he saw, because the first thing he did after Tony emailed him regarding the Falcon wings was auto-forward all of Tony’s messages to Spam.

Wilson had turned green somewhere in the middle of that, while Lang was flat-out horrified and kept sending appalled looks at the Rogues.

“No. No, that’s not—” Wilson whimpered as his own negligence was shown in hateful orange highlights. However, he couldn’t dispute it, because FRIDAY, the amazing AI that she was, kept both meticulous records and extremely clear video footage. So they all got to watch Rogers set his email to delete anything related to the Accords and Wilson spam everything Tony sent him.

Being the equally thorough man Peter was (and with FRIDAY’s vindictive assistance), their phone records were shown next. In glorious lavender, the 58 calls Tony made to Rogers, along with the 40 voicemails, were displayed. Then Romanova’s 36 and 20, followed by Wilson’s 25 and 11.

The records were damning enough on their own, but the next three phone statements confirmed that very few of the voicemails were listened to and not a single message or call was returned. The entire group preferred to communicate by text, and Peter showed those as well — and none of the texts following Tony’s first attempt at contact regarding the Accords more than two years prior were about them.

Given their blatant disregard for Tony’s attempts, a curious Ned had followed that trail of breadcrumbs (well, okay, bread loaves), trying to figure out how Tony had finally gotten them to that meeting with Ross.

And discovered that he’d asked Maria Hill to send a mass email about a meeting to discuss increasing the team’s budget.

The necessity of the subterfuge made Lang scowl ferociously at the group, only to shift mid-glower to gape in disbelief when Wilson grabbed at it like a drowning man and squawked, “See! He had to trick us to get us into that meeting! Why would he do that unless he knew it was wrong?!”

Disgusted, Peter simply stared at him for several minutes before scoffing and turning away. It was obvious that Wilson knew he was grasping at used paper straws and didn’t actually believe what he’d just said. But it was extremely telling that even after three years, the man still refused to admit to his own genuine wrongs and would take any possible excuse to blame Tony for his actions.

So Peter said nothing. There was no point, and his silence would be more eloquent. Also, Wilson didn’t realize it, but he was well on the way to hitting rock bottom. The only question was whether he’d look for a ladder or grab a shovel.

Well. At least it was something potentially interesting to watch, even though Peter was 97% sure which option the man would choose.

Dismissing Wilson for the time being, he focused his attention on Romanova, who merely gazed back at him in silence. It was supposed to be intimidating and eight months ago, it would have worked.

Too bad for her it wasn’t eight months ago.

Peter sighed and said, “And you, Ms. Romanova? What’s your claim to fame? What mistakes did you make?”

She didn’t answer, or blink, and a staring contest ensued, conducted in dead silence that unnerved everyone else.

Peter, however, found himself enjoying it. It wasn’t just Tony he was protecting; he was also making sure May and Ned and MJ and the people of Queens were safe from this group — not to mention Peter himself.

So he became the third person to win a staring contest with Natasha Romanova, a feat he would never know but was still immensely proud of. And the end result was both exactly what he was expecting and what he was hoping for.

“You do realize you can’t force me to participate in this little game,” she said evenly, drumming her nails on the table and looking bored.

When Peter simply nodded, she was surprised enough to jolt a smidge, pulling a smug smile to his lips.

“I know,” he replied, gesturing to the data still displayed on the wall in front of the group. “And let’s be honest, nobody actually needs you to say it out loud. Your mistakes are clear. I just wanted to see if you had enough integrity to admit them and now I know that you don’t.” He paused there, watching the calculations flash in her eyes as she tried to figure out what his endgame was, since he’d decimated her initial assumptions, and then decided to take a wild shot. “What was Mr. Stark’s mistake in all this?” he asked, watching with great interest as her expression shuttered for a split second before smoothing out into something that was probably supposed to be pitying but was really just condescending.

“Tony knows what he did wrong,” was all she said, blinking twice when Peter only nodded sagely again in response.

“Right. So, nothing. Full points for saying it without actually saying it, though; that was really inventive. Ned, remind me to show this to MJ; she’s been itching to take down Brussard in APUSH and I think she can really pull this trick off,” he called, never taking his eyes off the spy, who finally showed the first hints of uncertainty. Peter had completely thrown her with his calm, measured responses, and she didn’t yet know how to gain control of, or at least spin, the situation to her advantage.

“Totally,” Ned replied, pulling out his phone and making the requested note. Then he and Peter turned their attention to Scott Lang, who had recovered from Wilson’s display and was now paradoxically both relaxed and yet more tense than he had when he’d first come in and been webbed to his chair.

“Mr. Lang,” Peter said courteously to the man, who had caused no trouble since they’d been arrested but had still been part of this clusterfuck and had the bad habit of opening his mouth to snark about Tony, though without any true vitriol since they’d left Wakanda. “What was your mistake in all this? What did you do wrong?”

“Uhh . . .” Lang licked his lips nervously, then took a deep breath and straightened in his chair, resolve filling his face. “I didn’t take a few minutes to stop and think about anything. I got a phone call in the middle of the night from a guy I’d met once, he said Captain America needed me, and I took off. No hesitation, no questions asked. And I really, really, should have asked a lot of them, especially at Leipzig. I — what I did there . . . I’ll never forgive myself for that. If Stark hadn’t evacuated the airport, there’s no telling how many people I could have hurt or killed. Oh, God,” he breathed, suddenly horrified. “I did nearly kill you and Stark! I . . . yeah,” he finally said, swallowing hard and unable to look Peter in the eyes, much less Tony, who was partly shielded by Peter’s admittedly-slender build. “Those are my mistakes.”

Peter was quiet for a minute, startled at hearing one of Rogers’ cadre openly admit to doing something wrong — or in Lang’s case, rash and impulsive. And an apology was something he wasn’t expecting at all. Not that he would refuse it or say anything, it was just extremely surprising. Wilson, on the other hand, looked wounded as he hunched in on himself, clearly still stinging from the inescapable evidence that none of his assertions about Tony’s guilt, which he’d used to justify his actions, were right.

Speaking of . . .

“And Mr. Stark? What did he do wrong?” Peter asked quietly, with none of the venom Rogers’ other teammates had gotten. Lang swallowed again but this time, he was able to meet first Peter’s gaze unflinchingly, then Tony’s.

“Not a damn thing,” he replied without a second of hesitation. “Other than taking responsibility that wasn’t his and expecting them to act like adults. Hell, he’s the only one in the whole stupid mess who did the right thing!”

Rhodes flinched, his whole body radiating guilt, and satisfaction surged through Peter. He had a great deal of respect for Rhodes as an Air Force colonel and as War Machine. He did. But his actions and words regarding Tony and the Accords had soured Peter’s attitude toward him on a personal level, which was why he proceeded with his plan without hesitating. Tony deserved this.

They all did.

Focusing his attention on the man, he noted with mild approval that the colonel met his gaze with no hesitation. And he didn’t wait for Peter to ask.

“I was mistaken when I thought the Avengers were a group of adults who understand that actions have consequences and took any interest in the world outside this compound, especially things that pertained to them.”

That was . . . well, it wasn’t completely wrong, but at the same time, it was utter bullshit and a cop-out and Peter scowled, drawing a deep breath in preparation for unleashing a scathing retort . . . but then Rhodes spoke again.

“And then I put the blame for their refusal to listen on Tony, because I assumed he was his usual arrogant, abrasive self before that last meeting and had accidentally pushed them in the wrong direction. I forgot that isn’t who he really is, and just . . . well, God help me, I just ignored the fact that most of the time, he actually isn’t being either of those things. People just take it that way because they don’t like having their faults pointed out, especially by someone they love to hate the way they do Tony. And this bunch took that to an unprecedented level.” He stopped there and took several deep breaths, clearly trying to keep his emotions under control. Against his will, Peter felt some sympathy but he refused to let it show on his face and waited in stoic silence for Rhodes to continue. It took several minutes.

“My mistake was forgetting who my best friend really is so I could put all the responsibility on the childish ass who doesn’t actually exist and absolve myself of any blame for it going wrong. After all, I wasn’t here full-time, so how could I be responsible for them not listening?” he said bitterly, looking sick and ashamed now, and Peter turned to Tony in alarm, knowing what was about to happen.

Sure enough, Tony was trying desperately to stand up, words of absolution tumbling from his mouth as he scrabbled uselessly at the table in an effort to escape Peter’s webs.

Then Rhodes met Tony’s eyes dead-on, cutting him off mid-word, and said, “Tony’s mistake was trusting me to have his back. He thought I knew who he really was and believed that I would support him when he was right. He didn’t realize I couldn’t stand the tension any longer and had to put the blame for it somewhere. And I honestly never thought that an entire group of people could be as stupid and childish and hateful as this bunch. It was easier to pin the blame on one person than six. Or myself.”

The entire room went dead still. No one even breathed for what seemed like forever.

Tony broke down, but he did so in silence, tears dripping down his cheeks in obscene trails of glistening moisture that highlighted how gaunt his face was now, how worn down he’d become since the Rogues had returned. Rhodes cursed once, viciously, and gave the group a single scathing look dripping with contempt before sinking in on himself and looking at the table. His posture screamed ‘shame’ and Peter sighed quietly to himself. This had gotten a lot heavier than he’d expected, but he’d managed to accomplish two of his goals — forcing Rhodes to see his shitty, unacceptable behavior toward his best friend and getting at least one of Rogers’ cohort to understand just how badly they’d screwed up — and he wasn’t quite done. He had one more Rogue to talk to and then, after that, one final point to make, and then he and Ned would get Tony the hell away from these people and help him finally start to heal from wounds he should never have suffered.

He glared at Rogers for a solid minute, forcing the man to either hold his eyes and acknowledge who had control of the room, or look away and concede defeat. Since Steve Rogers would die before admitting defeat, he managed to keep his eyes on Peter’s.

But the compulsive swallowing he wasn’t able to control gave him away.

“Before I ungag you, I have to know: can you be mature for three minutes and answer only the questions asked?” Peter inquired in a silky voice that told Ned and Tony just how furious he actually was. Ned smiled with pride in his best friend. He didn’t see Tony’s appalled realization at the depths of Peter’s knowledge. When Rogers had the audacity to look insulted, Peter scoffed and turned to Tony, seeking . . . well, he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. But seeing his mentor’s hunched shoulders and empty eyes enraged him even more and he spun back to Rogers and snapped, “I mean it, Rogers! We aren’t here to pick apart ULTRON or Bucky Fucking Barnes or any other imagined grievances. The only thing I care about right now are the Accords. So if you can’t keep on track, I’ll leave you gagged and spare us all the sanctimonious pontificating.”

Lang had to physically clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter, and so did Rhodes. Ned didn’t bother and dissolved into cackling at the confused look on Rogers’ face; he clearly didn’t understand what ‘sanctimonious pontificating’ meant, and the petulant scowl partly hidden behind the web was more amusing than it should have been.

Peter, however, refused to succumb to the humor. He kept his eyes locked on the other man, silently daring him to grow up and be an actual adult for the first time in his life, and after two, maybe three minutes of a very intense staring contest, Rogers gave a single nod.

Peter nodded back, lifted his left wrist, and hit Rogers square in the face with a shot of dissolving solution. Watching the man rock back in his chair from the force of the impact was also funny, but Peter managed to keep it off his face. He needed every advantage now, because Steve Rogers was an idiot, but he was an idiot of conviction and he possessed the terrifying ability to project his convictions onto other people until it became their beliefs as well. He didn’t think he was susceptible to that, but then, he never would have thought Tony would fall prey to it and yet he had.

Granted, it had happened over a long period of a time, but still: it was a strong risk. And Rogers had repeatedly proven that he had little self-control and less discipline and he hated being backed in a corner. Since Peter had done that exact thing, he unobtrusively prepped his webshooters for sealant webs again just in case he needed to reapply the gag and/or restraints.

Once he spit out the last bit of web, he turned a black scowl on Peter, who merely looked at him with a bland expression and said, “What was your mistake with the Accords, Mr. Rogers? What did you do wrong?”

That strong jaw worked furiously for a few seconds before the man steeled himself, crossed his arms, and — teeth gritted — said, “I should have looked at them more closely before saying no.”

Well.

As answers went, that was both a cop-out and utter bullshit, same as Wilson, but it served its purpose. Everyone who heard him would know that Rogers didn’t feel any regret for his actions, or remorse. Given that ‘straight from the shrink’s office’ cookie-cutter answer, he also didn’t think he’d truly done anything wrong. At best, Rogers likely thought he was ‘misguided’ and, if Peter was dumb enough to push the issue, would doubtless claim said misguidedness was someone’s else’s fault.

No guesses as to who he would assign to that role.

So Peter sighed, feeling a lot more disappointed than he should, and let it go. He’d gotten an answer, which was the main thing, and he was beyond ready to be done with this. He offered Rogers a single nod and cleared his throat, only to have to take a minute and fight himself to keep his voice calm and even, before he managed to ask, “What was Tony’s mistake?”

The silence was so heavy and so loud, it hurt, and Peter was tense, fingers resting on his webshooters because he was pretty sure Rogers was going to revert to form and start throwing blame and accusations at Tony . . . so he was completely unprepared when the man simply replied, “He kept Wanda prisoner for no reason.”

. . . wait.

What?

Since that wasn’t remotely what he’d expected to hear, Peter took a minute to blink out his confusion before giving Rogers his full attention. A bewildered ‘what?’ was on his lips when Vision cut him off, something he was absurdly grateful for.

“With respect, Mr. Rogers, he did not,” the android told him, watching impassively as Rogers floundered, taken off-guard by this, and then continued. “In actual fact, he advised her to stay in the Compound due to the precarious state of her United States work visa. And after Lagos, he strongly recommended that she stay inside for her own safety, something that I also suggested to her. At no point did he forbid her to leave or lock her in the Compound.”

This calm, simple explanation made Rogers mouth wordlessly for several seconds, clearly trying to find a counter argument, and he finally spluttered, “But he said he was keeping Wanda prisoner!”

Shocking everyone, Tony cleared his throat and answered. “No, actually, I just said she was confined to the Compound, with Vision keeping her company. When you squawked, I told you it was the best and most luxurious way to keep her safe. And you—”

Stopping abruptly, Tony shook his head once, sharply, and gestured at Peter, who took a deep breath through his nose and turned back to Rogers, who looked like he was about to explode in a fit of affronted rage. Peter didn’t hesitate; he shot a web at the man’s mouth, heading the ensuing lecture and/or tantrum off at the pass, and then sighed yet again.

Really, why was he surprised? Admittedly, he knew nothing about the incident in question — but when he watched the recording the following day, Ned would be forced to sit on him to keep him from storming to Rogers’ room and hanging him naked from the flat side of the Tower, using his failed web solution as the adhesive. But it tracked with the man’s personality that, denied his established go-to of accusing Tony of keeping secrets and going behind everyone’s back, he had instead pivoted to something Tony had done to help another member of the team — which he had been forced off of by then. If that weren’t bad enough, Tony had been trying to help a woman who had openly and repeatedly stated her desire to kill him.

And Peter, who didn’t yet know any specifics or even broad facts beyond the little Vision had just provided, understood instantly what his mentor had been trying to do, and why.

Three years later, Rogers still didn’t have a clue.

And the only possible reason for that was because he just didn’t want to know.

Well. This little powwow had been a lot more enlightening than Peter had expected and he smirked to himself when he remembered the future plans he’d made when setting things up, but a cough from Tony brought him back to the present and he turned to face his mentor, pausing in concern and sadness at seeing how . . . defeated . . . he looked. His head was down and his shoulders were hunched and it was physically painful to look at him.

Then he raised his head, eyes blazing with a fire Peter hadn’t seen in months, and their gazes locked.

Peter sucked in a hard breath, excitement flooding his veins.

Tony was back, at least right now. His Tony, Pepper’s Tony, the Tony Stark who had commanded the world stage so effortlessly and earned the world’s trust and respect as Iron Man before this bunch of parasites had sucked him dry and tried so hard to destroy his reputation.

No one saw his feral grin but Ned and Tony, which was a good thing, before Peter calmed himself enough to keep his voice level, and said, “What was your mistake, Mr. Stark?”

His mentor — his dad — looked steadily at him for a minute before straightening his shoulders and letting his gaze touch each person at the table. It was interesting to see the various reactions to this; Lang winced, but met his eyes. Wilson cringed and studied the table like it held the secret to solving the Avalon equations. Romanova stared back, but something in the set of her mouth showed her uncertainty. Vision held his gaze, his face expressionless but not cold or unfriendly. Rogers glowered. Rhodes flinched and looked away for a second before he visibly forced himself to man up and meet his best friend’s eyes.

The silence held everyone in thrall and it stretched until it was unbearable.

“My mistake was trusting them to have my back. To support me, to trust me, to listen to me. By then, I should have known better and just left them to their own devices. I cared too much about all the wrong people.”

That brutal truth shattered Rhodes, who shuddered and looked away again, shame evident in every line of his body. Vision’s expression darkened to sorrow and he looked like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what.

Rogers, Romanova, and Wilson all looked like they’d just been struck by lightning.

Which was Peter’s cue. Tony had just dropped the mic — epically, because he was Tony Fucking Stark — and it was time to drop the final hammer and then get himself, his best friend, and their idol and mentor (and dad) the hell out of there.

Once again, he took control of the room by clearing his throat rather obnoxiously and smiling his ‘creepy insane psycho killer smile’, as Ned described it. To anyone who didn’t know better, it looked perfectly normal. To the people in this room? It was terrifying.

It got their attention, which was his goal; their fear of what was going to happen next was a bonus, a nice Easter Egg.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done,” Peter told the group soothingly, biting down a second smile at the relief and anticipation that flooded every face, wiping out their trepidation. He knew full well they thought he was going to dissolve the webs holding them in place and allow them to scatter so they could hide and lick their wounds and pretend none of this had happened.

They were just so adorable in their naiveté.

Also, they had severely underestimated not just Peter’s personal moral code and his anger, but also his heart-deep loyalty to Tony Stark, who had earned it a thousand times over. Only Tony would be leaving with Peter and Ned in a few minutes; the rest of them would get a fresh layer of webbing so they could think about their life choices for a few more hours. And then, once he’d gotten Tony home, Peter had done his best to prepare a . . . well, a speech, because his mentor (dad) was so used to being vilified for everything that someone defending him registered as ‘wrong’ to his senses and he tended to yell at people who stood up for him. Peter had made it his mission in life to change that mindset, but it was going to be a long, slow, and very painful process.

Luckily for everybody, Peter was younger and even more stubborn. He had this.

That was for later, though. He still had one final nail to hammer in the coffin that was the Rogue Avengers’ so-called redemption story.

“One last question and then . . . yeah. We’re done,” he told them, meeting each person’s eyes individually to ensure he had their attention. The one person he didn’t look at was Tony, who was watching him intently, a fact that only Rhodes and Romanova noticed. Showing a little of the good character everyone subscribed to him, Rhodes looked relieved at whatever conclusion he’d come to and he sat back after giving Peter a respectful nod, knowing there was more punishment to come but at peace with the knowledge that he’d earned it. Also true to form, Rogers and Wilson looked petulant, and Romanova’s face was blank. Well. Mostly. Lang was resigned and Vision was patiently waiting.

Despite noticing their reactions, Peter manfully ignored them and gave the room another bright, toothy smile. Lang flinched, Rhodes braced himself, Romanova was still impassive, Wilson was wary, and Rogers and Vision now looked confused.

That was mostly what Peter had expected to see so he continued with his original plan and met each person’s gaze again before taking a single step back so that he was standing at Tony’s side, making his stance so clear even a blind man couldn’t miss it.

“How many of you have apologized for your mistakes? If you have, who was it to and what did you apologize for?”

He waited exactly long enough to see the shame, guilt, impassive denial, and mulish defiance wash over the various faces, unsurprised by any of them, before circling the table with firm, purposeful steps. He enjoyed the hell out of the wary expressions that greeted him when he paused by Wilson’s chair, and internally cackled in Austin Powers villain-like glee when those same expressions simultaneously morphed to horrified alarm when he applied a new layer of webbing. It took him less than a minute to get all of them, sans Vision, who nonetheless didn’t move, and when he was done, he went straight to Tony, turning his back to the room and quietly applying the dissolvent to the webs holding him in place. The instant he was free, Peter stepped back as he got up and kept him from speaking by virtue of taking his arm in a gentle but implacable grip and leading him through the door, with Ned following at his shoulder, surrounding their hero with their protection and making a silent but deadly point about their contempt for everyone else.

The journey back to the penthouse was quiet, broken only by the sound of their footsteps, and once they arrived, Peter steered Tony to his bedroom and locked him in there with the firm admonition to take a long, hot shower or, hell, indulge in a long bubble bath using the masculine bubbles Ned had found at Bath and Body Works. Showing just how exhausted he was, how drained, Tony made no objection at all before vanishing in his bathroom and leaving Peter and Ned at loose ends, jittery but also exhilarated. This was mostly solved by pizza and Mario Kart, and they quickly leveled out emotionally as well.

Peter hadn’t realized how tense and stressed he’d gotten over the last two weeks as he got this plan ready, but the release of tension quickly put him to sleep, which he wasn’t expecting and Ned was.

That meant that Tony was greeted by Ned when he finally emerged, looking hunted and miserable. Clearly, the burst of self-confidence he’d gotten during Peter’s . . . life lesson . . . had dissipated and left him even more of an emotional mess.

And so it was that Ned Leeds was the one who talked the first round of sense into Tony Stark.

It worked.

Tony never did quite reconcile that reality.

Ned wouldn’t recover from his stunned joy and disbelieving pride until the day he successfully argued his doctoral thesis.

(that joy was promptly outdone when he was met in the hallway by Tony Stark himself, with a contract promoting him to Director of the Coding Lab at SI, dated ten days out to allow for both the ‘OMG, I got my doctorate!!!’ party and recovery from the resultant hangover)

Given everything that had happened — and not just that day — it ended surprisingly well, with Tony sprawled on his couch, Peter tucked into his side and Ned stretched out with his head in Peter’s lap, watching the original Jurassic Park and jeering at the science, and that was the scene Pepper saw when she arrived home. Several pictures later, along with a truly nauseating amount of fawning and cooing over the adorableness of the sight, she joined them, curled up on Tony’s other side, fingers gently playing with Ned’s hair.

Tony Stark rested, gradually accepting that he was safe, he was protected, and he was loved. Fiercely. Unwaveringly. Unconditionally.

And for the first time, he finally allowed himself to believe that he deserved it.

Two weeks later, after all the shouting and blustering and threats had been made, and most of the tantrums had been thrown, a humbled, shamed, and respectful James Rhodes apologized to Tony, Pepper, and Peter. Pepper’s displeasure at how long it had taken burned hot and it took nearly an hour for him to explain that doing so earlier would have just convinced Tony he was only doing it out of a sense of guilt and obligation, not because he genuinely meant it, a truth that she accepted after thinking back to a few of her own such interactions with Tony. Then, finally showing the strong moral fiber he had let lapse for too long, he’d apologized to the Rogues for not holding them accountable, which let them think they were right and had been a huge factor in the resultant fiascos.

It escaped no one’s notice that he did not get a return apology from anyone but Vision and Lang, who were also the only ones who made a serious — and successful — effort to speak to Tony, who had made himself so scarce, Google couldn’t find him.

Wilson and Romanova began to understand that maybe they’d miscalculated by ignoring everything Peter had showed them when the various features and amenities of the Compound began to be closed to them. FRIDAY was just as vindictive as her little brother Peter and since Tony hadn’t told her otherwise, she used her discretion to determine what services of hers the Rogues were allowed to use.

And with each passing day of no acknowledgement or change in their base behavior, those services became fewer and fewer. On the eighth day, when he was forced to shower with water frozen to genuine Arctic temperatures, Wilson caved and tried to find Tony, only to run face-first into the frightening realization that he’d left it too late. It took two more days for Romanova to come to the same conclusion. From all appearances, Rogers never did.

Ten days after he made his apologies, Rhodes personally escorted Peter Parker to his appointment with the president, and then stood back with an actual, literal dropped jaw, watching as Peter informed the most powerful politician in the world that he had two options: he could call a press conference, give a speech, whatever, announcing that while the pardons for the Rogues had not been revoked, a review of their actions since arriving back in New York had shown him the necessity of a) requiring the entire team to seek outside employment to support themselves and b) moving them to either a privately-owned facility or one leased from the government. He would further declare that since pardoning the team had been his idea and something he had lobbied hard and successfully for, they would be supervised by security hired from the private sector and paid for out of his own pocket, and the wages earned from the aforementioned employment would go toward rent, food, and maintenance, so America’s citizens weren’t footing the bill for a group of war criminal terrorists and he could recover a little of his losses.

Or, if Ellis chose political power over integrity, Peter would release the videos, the audio recordings, the papers and reports . . . he would show the world all the evidence of just much responsibility the Rogues actually held in the disaster of the initial Accords. And then, once that information was out there, Peter would go to the UN and demand that Ellis explain to the entire world his decision to not just pardon their crimes, but also levy no punishment at all, while also justifying his decision to fund their fairly lavish lifestyles using American tax dollars when Tony Stark’s forced, unwilling largesse ended.

The horror on the president’s face at being so deftly outmaneuvered by a high school senior was one for the record books. It really was. Especially when the arrogant ass fumbled and argued and stuttered his way to the same realization the Rogues had finally had.

It was too late to apologize.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Bully

Stereotypes are a dangerous, insidious thing.

This is not so much because people tend to accept them as gospel, though the phenomenon wouldn’t exist if it didn’t contain at least a grain of truth, but because the vast majority of people stop there. All Yankees are snobs. Women are worse drivers than men. Everyone who lives in the deep country is a redneck hick. All French people love snails. Etcetera and so forth.

Stereotypes are preached as though they are an immutable truth and dissent is strongly discouraged, if not outright forbidden — and thus, creating the problem that very few people bother to look deeper, especially when it comes to children.

Take, for example, the assertion that ‘bullies are having a hard time at home/work/elsewhere, so they take their anger out on a safe substitute’ or ‘bullies are just jealous because ‘insert reason here’' or ‘bullies have no self-esteem so they pick on others to feel better about themselves’.

Now, this is not necessarily untrue.

But it isn’t an absolute, either. And that’s what makes this particular stereotype so dangerous.

If that weren’t enough, the one tethered to it, claiming that ‘if you ignore the bully, if you don’t react, they’ll eventually get bored and go away’, is just as wrong and just as damaging — and even more dangerous.

Any kid in school, especially high school, will laugh so derisively and so bitterly that it hurts when presented with the second lie . . . but there is the dichotomy: even then, they rarely question the first explanation. It doesn’t make the bullying any better, but knowing there’s a reason why their tormentor hates them so much makes it easier to bear.

(it really, really doesn’t, because they have problems, too, but they don’t torture and hurt other people to deal with them)

And that is where Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson’s story begins.

He knows perfectly well that everyone thinks his life at home is abusive — or at the very least, he is emotionally neglected. After all, he’s an only child, his parents rarely attend any of his school activities, he has sycophants instead of friends, and he takes great joy in making the lives of several of his fellow students absolutely miserable. Therefore, he must have a bad home life.

This is a flat-out lie, but it’s one Flash makes no effort to correct. He doesn’t try to cultivate it, because he doesn’t want to get his parents in trouble, but he never directly refutes the rumors when he hears them.

Because the truth is that Flash has attentive, caring parents. They aren’t the most demonstrative of people, true, but they aren’t cold or cruel or absent. His father is on the school board and is a marketing consultant for small businesses, and his mother is the CFO of a mid-sized corporate retail company. They have family dinners most nights and movie nights and game nights and take vacations everyone enjoys. His parents encourage him to explore his own interests in addition to theirs, but they don’t demand perfection. The reason he has no siblings is because his mother developed ovarian cancer shortly after his first birthday and had to get a hysterectomy, and by the time both parents were ready to consider adoption, Flash was nearly four years old. He’d thrown a tantrum at the thought of adding another child to the household, one that lasted eight months, so the idea was permanently shelved.

Flash is spoiled, he knows, though not as badly as people assume. He always has new clothes, but his toys, while higher-end, aren’t replaced until they wear out or break from something accidental. He doesn’t get a new car or laptop or phone every year and his parents do not — will not — buy his way in to something. If he doesn’t earn it on his own merits, he doesn’t get it.

Now, this doesn’t mean they are indifferent to his disappointments and failures. When he was denied a place on the AcaDec team, relegated instead to alternate, he was inconsolable for several hours and his mother sat with him, hugging him and whispering how sorry she was, but also how proud, because alternate is nothing to be ashamed of and it will actually give him a much better chance when auditions come around the next year. He gets to eat ice cream for dinner that night and his parents promise to come to any competitions he’s guaranteed to participate in.

This is, of course, the reason they never come to any meets, because Peter Parker and Ned Leeds are the only two people he could feasibly replace and both boys will actually die before missing a competition on purpose. Washington doesn’t count, to Flash’s extreme irritation, because it was obvious even to a dead man that Parker had not intended to get so sick the hotel staff refused to let him leave, and there just wasn’t enough time for Flash to let his parents know he was competing.

But if Flash isn’t being abused or neglected, why is he such a vicious bully?

Well . . . because he likes it. He’d discovered that he enjoyed that kind of power in the second grade, when he’d bullied a fellow classmate into telling their teacher that Flash should have won the science fair but she’d ruined his volcano on purpose so her subpar colored-salt project would get the judges’ attention. There is something deeply satisfying about not just forcing his will on someone else, but also in taking things away from people who haven’t earned it. It’s why he does not have or want friends: very few people are willing to completely submit their will to his, and have their interests and wants ignored when they don’t align with Flash’s.

Followers are a different story, he discovered in sixth grade. He loves having those since it only requires a little positive reinforcement from him and lets him expand his power base while ensuring his authority isn’t challenged, because if they are allowed to harass anyone they want, so long as they’re also picking on Flash’s enemies, then they aren’t targeting him, nor do they feel the need to take the spot of Alpha away from him.

Flash also isn’t hugely interested in girls yet, though that is slowly changing. The reason for his lack of interest is mostly because he’s rarely in close proximity with girls his age, and never on an individual basis. Even his spats with the unpopular MJ are chaperoned, albeit in the background. But when he’s ready to get a girlfriend, Flash is fully expecting them to line up and patiently wait to see which one he’ll choose to gift with his attention.

It never occurs to him that there is no multi-verse in which this will happen.

See, Flash isn’t attractive enough to garner a whole lot of general interest, and he certainly isn’t rich enough, nor is he as charming as he believes himself to be. However, neither are Peter Parker or Ned Leeds, and they both have girls who would like to get to know them . . . but that is where Flash, ironically (well, it would be if he knew) is the cause of everyone’s single status. His attitude is well-known for all the wrong reasons, but his reputation is worse. The girls in Midtown all know just how badly he takes rejection and how dangerous it is to tell him ‘no’. He is hardly the only boy like that, or even the worst, though he is well-known because of his vendetta against Peter Parker.

Given these facts, it didn’t take long for the girls to develop a silent code: don’t go anywhere alone, especially bathrooms, locker rooms, empty classrooms, out-of-the-way corners, or that one random alcove tucked between the library and the cafeteria.

So it is that Flash seldom finds himself in any kind of situation where he might get to know a girl, much less ask her out. He is brash and arrogant, yes, but even he is intimidated by the thought of trying to ask out one girl when she’s surrounded by a flock of them. And for the same reasons he doesn’t want friends, he isn’t eager to get a girlfriend (unlike most of the other problem boys, who are disturbingly aggressive), which lets everyone breathe a little easier, though they are wary of the day that changes.

And as he grew older, he also began to target people who didn’t give him the deference he was due. For instance: he is gifted in chemistry. He just has that special touch, and all the teachers know it and like to use him to tutor other kids . . . until Peter Parker came to Midtown. Within two weeks, he was setting an almost-untouchable grading curve and not just in chemistry. Physics, Engineering, Calculus . . . he stole the top position from Flash in all of those classes, something that irked the teachers as much as it did Flash. And it was made worse when he or the teacher would offer his tutoring services and get turned down in favor of Penis Parker. Well, Flash couldn’t let that happen, so he set himself to intimidating and threatening anyone who openly preferred Penis to him, and made sure everyone else knew he wouldn’t tolerate them befriending the poor, orphaned charity case.

Between his reputation, his father’s influence, and the not-really-hidden approval of the teachers, Flash turned their entire year against Parker in less than a month. He considers it one of his greatest achievements.

Conversely, he isn’t bothered at being bested in things he doesn’t like or aren’t good at, like Spanish. The language makes no sense no matter how much he studies, so he doesn’t care in the slightest at the number of classmates who rank higher than him in that class.

One of the first lessons his parents had taught him was that if he wanted something like an award or a prize, he had to earn it, and he had taken that lesson very much to heart — but they also taught him to cut his losses when something just isn’t working out. He worked his butt off to become a chess master once he discovered his talent for the game, he quit band after a year because he had neither the talent nor the enjoyment for being a musician, and he enjoys Robotics club because he likes the creative challenge of it, though it isn’t as fun as chess, nor is he as good.

He appreciates fine art and spent a lot of time at his father’s side, learning the history of the artists and the motivations behind their paintings and sculptures, famous and not, though given the choice, he would prefer to visit a science museum instead of looking at art. He likes to DJ, but he has to be in the mood for it, he adores livestreaming and is toying with the idea of starting his own podcast, and he has a burning desire to learn how to ride a motorcycle. His parents had forbidden that until he was eighteen, but his father has shown him the tickets he’s already procured for Flash’s first lesson, as one of his birthday presents.

Flash takes the lessons about earning the things he wanted very seriously and very much to heart. The problem is that he genuinely believes that when he tries out for something, he will be the winner. In his world, it is inconceivable that someone else will be better than him at something he truly wants and knows he’s good at, and class standings and grades are one of the things he cares about.

And he has never been lower in class rankings than third.

So one would think that seeing Peter Parker enter into Midtown their freshman year, a penniless orphan who was there on scholarship, would have earned Flash’s admiration while also sparking a semi-friendly rivalry. He had taken the placement exam, too, and knew exactly how difficult it was.

But.

Parker didn’t have to try. When it comes to math and science, he can be (and has been) asleep in class and get called on and come up with the right answer after three seconds of staring at the problem. Flash has seen him forget to do a three-page chemistry assignment until the period before it was due, scribble it out in English Lit, and get a perfect score.

It isn’t fair.

And it isn’t right.

Being gifted at something wasn’t the problem. Taking that gift for granted and abusing it was what bothered Flash.

One of the second lessons he’d learned was that appearances mattered, and so did status, though not to the exclusion of all else. His parents had money, some connections, and a little power, and they use all of that to their best advantage. They’ve cultivated relationships with people who could help them improve their social standing, but neither of them is willing to associate with people who possess few or no morals, and they’ve gone to great lengths to teach Flash that stepping on someone else to get ahead was not an acceptable way to live.

This isn’t to say that he should ignore opportunities when they came his way, or give them away, because ‘fair play’ isn’t really an option for long-term survival in the corporate business world. But his parents are very firmly against the idea of hurting someone else to get what they want, or stealing it from them.

They would be appalled at Flash’s treatment of some of his fellow students and he knows it, which is why he’s so careful. The staff is extremely wary of upsetting his father, which means he has a lot of latitude in what he can get away with, and he takes full advantage of it. Of course, he isn’t stupid and has taken the lessons about cultivating power and connections to heart. So he pays close attention to the teachers to figure out which students they resent or don’t like and makes a point of targeting them as well, though generally it’s mild. He makes them late for class and steals their homework, little things like that. He does enough to make sure the teachers know he’s helping them with their problem student but not so much that he’ll get in trouble.

And of course, he buddies up to the teacher’s pets, so they’ll know Flash can be trusted with treats and special assignments, and given additional latitude when he wants it. The end result is that his parents receive glowing reports about how helpful and friendly Flash is, and how much value he adds to his classes. On top of that, he is always polite to the kids with powerful, influential parents, and acts as friendly as he believably can, knowing he’ll need those connections in both college and the job market.

His hatred and vitriol are reserved for a select few, though, and their identities are an open secret: the boy who is dyslexic, so he shouldn’t physically be good at chess and yet destroys him in every match. He’s the only person who consistently beats Flash. The girl who can accurately identify a painting or sculpture, and its creator, at 100 yards without needing a second glance. Ned Leeds is something of an anomaly; he hates Leeds because the boy is a coding prodigy, which Flash is decidedly not, and he has tried several times to cultivate him and recruit him to his side, only to be clumsily but fiercely refused, and then further insulted by Leeds defying Flash’s edict and befriending Parker (he doesn’t know the two have been friends since fourth grade, though it would make no difference).

There are a few others, and they all have one thing in common: none of them have earned their places and positions, not like Flash has, and he can’t stand it.

Penis Parker, though . . .

Not only is he one of the students most of the teachers resent, but Flash simply cannot bear the way Parker treats his gifts like they are trash he found in a dumpster, and his eternal optimism is like nails on a chalkboard. Flash has never been given anything outright, but he’s also never truly suffered or been hurt. His disappointments are crushing and upsetting and it takes time for him to get over them, but Parker almost never experiences failure and when he does, it’s like he doesn’t even notice. He’s lost three parents before the age of 16 and loves life; it’s sickening and incomprehensible to Flash, especially when even those tragedies didn’t negatively affect his grades or performance.

Of course, the school is literally full of students who don’t meet Flash’s criteria for worthiness, but that’s where the other unpleasant truth comes into play: Flash loves ruining their enjoyment. Would he prefer that he and Parker switch positions on AcaDec, or him and the boy who can’t read in Chess Club? Naturally. But until that happens, picking at Penis and reminding him of how unworthy he is and how everything he has was given to him out of pity is just so much fun.

It’s also infuriating, because despite his best efforts — and when Flash puts his mind to something, his efforts are genuinely impressive — Parker is somehow able to ignore his digs and taunts and remorseless reminders of the truth of his pathetic existence. Denied the satisfaction of seeing him acknowledge his own loser status in life, Flash is forced to dig deeper. He knows that Penis (one of his more brilliant ideas, because it’s so mild the teachers ignore it but it’s so funny and repeatable, the entire school was using it within a week) is poor, orphaned, and only has his aunt left, after his uncle died their freshman year. He has nothing: no money, no connections, no power. But he refuses to give up and relinquish the things he hasn’t earned and doesn’t deserve to Flash, where they rightfully belong.

Those are surface reasons, though, and Flash knows it. Scratch the surface and the truth is, he likes hurting the other boy. He needs no other reason. His unworthiness of the things he’s stolen from Flash had jumpstarted it, sure, but it would have happened regardless. There is just something about Peter Parker that triggers all of Flash’s meanest and worst traits.

Now, here is the Catch-22: it does not matter what Peter does. If he gives in and responds to the vicious taunts and shoves, Flash will simply double down and start doing it every day, instead of every few days. Instead, he ignores them and Flash, which enrages him and forces him to get ever more creative and hateful in his desperation to get a reaction, proof that he’s finally hurt Penis enough to make him bleed and acknowledge Flash’s superiority.

The brat refuses to give up, though, which spurs Flash on like nothing else, not even the $1000 individual cash prize for winning the spelling bee back in 8^th grade, and his focus narrows on completely on Penis. He will stop at nothing to win, now . . . and then he hears Leeds talking about the new internship Penis got with Stark Industries.

Flash does not, will not, cannot believe it, especially when he can’t get past the first page on the application, but he also can’t let it stand, and when Penis refuses to rise to his bait — actually, he refuses to talk about it at all — Flash finds depths in himself he’d never dreamed he could achieve and his entire life’s focus becomes proving that not only is Penis Parker a lying, cheating dumpster diver who doesn’t deserve to mop Midtown’s floors with his tongue, he’s a thief who is stealing everyone else’s chances with his lies.

His networking has paid off; the bulk of the students side with Flash and several of them join him in harassing Penis, and the teachers are hilariously obvious in ignoring it. It takes less than two weeks for a new game to come up: how many classes can they make Parker late to? The teachers are complicit in this as well and Parker gets detention for a week straight before, irritatingly, he figures out their system and finds a workaround. That’s annoying on its own, but then Leeds lets slip that Penis knows Spiderman and Flash sees red. He ups his efforts to make Penis crack to a level that he has never given in any of his classes.

But when Penis ignores that, too, it’s just too much. Flash finally loses control of his temper one day after gym, when the other boy somehow manages to dodge every single ‘misaimed’ ball Flash throws at him. Furious and upset because he bombed Harrington’s pop chemistry quiz, like everyone else in the class — except Penis, who aced it and pissed teacher and students off in equal measure — and then being relegated to second chair in Chess Club again, Parker’s refusal to let him blow off some of his frustration pushes Flash over the edge. Without a second thought, he runs up behind the scrawny brat and shoves him in the lower back, watching gleefully as he loses his balance and crashes face-first into the bleachers.

But even then, he doesn’t say a word to Flash. He doesn’t even cry out in pain, which makes Flash grit his teeth in impotent fury, and he glowers at the crumpled heap of loser sprawled on the bleachers, unable to think of anything to say, until Parker finally twists his head and meets Flash’s gaze.

He can see the tears in Penis’ eyes and his lower lip is caught between his teeth in an effort to control the pain, but that isn’t enough. He needs to watch him cry and hear him whimper because Flash has finally gotten to him, so he unveils a new taunt, one he’s been waiting to use until he gets the maximum impact, and jeers, “Can you actually be more useless, Penis? No wonder your entire family was so desperate to get away from you that they all died. You can’t run, throw, catch, walk . . . hell, you’re such a waste of space, you can’t even stand upright. And you have to lie about being special and important to pretend you belong with the people who actually deserve to be here. I almost feel sorry for you.”

Certain that was enough, Flash watches eagerly for a few seconds, only to choke with rage when Parker just bites his lip again and turns his head away, refusing to even look at his tormenter. Pushed beyond his control, he starts to kick Penis in the ribs, but the sound of Coach Wilson’s voice makes him pause and realize he is too close to risk it. Instead, he sneers at the pathetic heap at his feet and hisses, “Worthless dumpster diver,” before he saunters away, nodding to the coach as he heads for the locker room.

The sight of Penis in a cast for the next month makes him smile. Watching him fumble with one hand, especially when Leeds isn’t around, is hilarious. And knowing that he is the cause of that pain and inconvenience is the best feeling. It also means he can’t do as many of the chem and biology labs, which lowers his grade because the teachers refuse to give him any leniency (‘if you’re well enough to come to school, you’re well enough to do the work, same as everyone else’), and that is so satisfying, Flash wonders if he can get away with breaking the other arm.

His plans for that are spectacularly derailed when the field trip to Stark Industries is announced.

It is the best chance Flash will ever have and he takes full advantage of it.

He warms up on the bus, relishing the knowledge that Parker can’t escape. But it really starts with watching Penis go through the security checkpoints the same as the rest of them, no badge in sight. That is enough to quell any doubts Flash might (but didn’t) have, but then the other boy has the audacity to pretend like he actually knows one of the security guards. And while he knows Penis doesn’t have any money, he thinks that accusing him of bribing the poor employee is more embarrassing than declaring he’s being pitied because he’s so poor and pathetic. So he jeers, “That’s pathetic, Penis. Bribing a security guard to pretend she knows you,” and watches with a hateful grin as Penis scowls impotently at him.

A ticked-off Leeds starts to snap back at Flash, who is waiting with another zinger, only to deflate a little when Parker grabs his arm and shakes his head. Then that bitch Jones gets between Flash and his targets and he backs off. He can’t stand Michelle Jones, but she isn’t afraid of him or his parents, and she has final say on the AcaDec members.

Huh.

He’d never thought about that before, but maybe Parker is screwing her so he can have a spot. Well . . . Jones is really too pretty to soil herself with Penis, and it isn’t like he knows what do with a girl, so maybe he’s whoring himself out to her mom, who would definitely have lower standards. It’s gross, but it definitely makes more sense than him being faster and smarter and more knowledgeable than Flash at every math and science category.

Making a mental note to use that the next time he needs to put Penis in his place, he snickers to himself as he pictures the look he’ll get, along with the incoherent stuttering. It’s going to be hilarious. But right now, he cares only about humiliating Parker and forcing everyone to acknowledge that Flash is superior in all things. To his delight, Harrington joins his efforts, also accusing Penis of bribing employees several times and giving him not one, but two seriously amazing beat-downs about how Parker is embarrassing his classmates and the school and destroying his own life with his refusal to admit that he isn’t really an intern at SI. Wisely, Flash stays away from those, though he does film part of the first one, giggling with a few of his gang over Penis’ angry, embarrassed acceptance of Harrington’s vitriol.

Flash’s plans to go another round over lunch are stymied by the simple fact that Parker disappears until just before they leave, which is annoying but also gratifying; it means he’s been rattled enough by Flash and Harrington bombarding everyone with the truth that he needed to hide. Victory tastes so very sweet and Flash savors it as they head to the Biochemical lab, where Penis has clearly charmed or bribed another sucker. Why so many people are taken in by a skinny streak of nothing with stupid curly hair, wide eyes, and a stutter is baffling, but Penis has clearly learned to use those qualities to his advantage. Honestly, if this were Hammer Tech or OsCorp, Flash would be impressed at how much effort Parker has gone to. He is incredibly determined to sell everyone the lie that he’s special or important enough for Stark Industries, and he’s refusing to back down.

Flash, however, is twice as determined to prove the opposite and show the world the truth about Penis Parker and everyone knows that Flash Thompson is never wrong and he never gives up. He’s already made sure Penis has no support outside of Leeds and Jones, though none of their classmates give him anywhere near as much grief and trouble as Flash. They all understand that Penis is his special project and know better than to get in his way, which is awesome. It’s the kind of power and authority he loves and having it given to him so easily is a rush he’s never gotten anywhere else.

So when he sees a scowling security guard storm through the lab door and head for Parker, who is getting reamed out again by Harrington, Flash has to bite his tongue to keep from cackling out loud. This is it. This is the moment he’s waited for and worked toward for almost seven months and he shoves past Curtis so he can get an unobstructed view, pulling out his phone to record the scene of Penis Parker getting thrown out of Stark Industries for being a lying liar who lies.

When the guard grabs Harrington and pulls him back to the door, Flash is understandably surprised.

When a different guard takes his arm and leads him to the same door, he is astonished and so confused, he can’t even speak and obediently follows his teacher and the security people to the elevator and down several floors. The silence is suffocating and somehow . . . menacing . . . and the combination is enough to keep Flash from asking any questions, though his confusion only deepens. Then he and Harrington are quickly and firmly escorted into a conference room, where a group of people arranged like an AcaDec judges panel is waiting.

That’s odd enough, but their faces are all blank, which is really unnerving, and the order for them to sit down is so emotionless, Flash pauses before obeying, trying to figure out what’s going on. Less than five minutes ago, he’d been expecting to see Penis Parker get thrown out in the streets, but instead, he and Harrington have been singled out.

As though thinking of his teacher flipped a switch, Harrington gently tugs on his arm to get him to sit down, and Flash does, still trying to understand what’s happening here. Why are he and Harrington the ones the guards singled out, instead of Parker?

Oh!

Maybe these people want to get the details about Penis’ lies before the throw him out. If Flash says the right things, he might even get Penis expelled or arrested, which would be awesome.

No, seriously: that will be the greatest thing that ever happened to him if he successfully ruined Penis by using his own lies and actions against him. He manages not to bounce in his chair, but it takes a lot of control, and he is eagerly waiting for the first question. He is so eager, in fact, that when it comes, he doesn’t actually listen to what is said. All he hears is ‘Stark Industries employees’ and ‘accusations’, which has to mean Parker.

(it will be months before he realizes this is the beginning of his downfall)

“One of my classmates is lying about having an internship here, so he paid those people to pretend to know him. And now he’s finally getting exposed for the liar he is,” he informs the group he is facing, nearly bursting with pride at being the one to take Penis Parker down.

He is so certain that’s what’s about to happen that it takes him way too long to realize that he is being stared at in a very non-friendly silence, and he blinks at the panel, extremely confused but — for one of the few times in his life — too wary to blurt out a demand for an explanation. And then everything happens at once and his entire life is upended and he is drowning in a hurricane he doesn’t understand, one made up of lies and accusations and crimes and legal matters and all he can do is stare in disbelief at the group of people glaring at him and saying things like, ‘zero evidence of wrongdoing’ and ‘unfounded accusations’ and ‘criminal behavior’.

It’s so unexpected and so completely and totally not what he was expecting that all Flash can do is cringe back in his chair when the muscular bald man pins him with a look he recognizes too well, as it’s one of his favorites to give Penis: contempt.

Through the roaring in his ears, Flash hears the words “We are filing a lawsuit for slander and defamation of character against you and the minor child Mr. Thompson via his parents for your false accusations”, but they do not compute. They make no sense — nothing makes sense anymore and Flash wants to cry, because he’s in trouble and doesn’t know why, or what he’s done, or how it’s possible when Penis is the liar, not Flash.

This is more than enough to make him flounder in frightened confusion, but then he watches, jaw hanging open, as his teacher is handed a thick, sealed envelope, while a young man maybe ten years Flash’s senior pulls up a chair at his side and places an identical packet on the table, and someone says, “Let the official record show that you have been served,” and Flash just . . . stops. His entire world freezes and he stares at that plain mustard yellow packet with wide, blank, unseeing eyes, trying desperately to untangle the threads of what just happened here.

He cringes back when shouting erupts at the end of the table, but isn’t aware of what’s actually being said and in fact takes none of it in . . . until someone slams their hand on the table so hard, Flash and Harrington both nearly fall out of their chairs from surprise.

Then everything goes dead silent and Flash holds his breath, suddenly afraid to breathe, and stares at the group with frightened eyes. But what one of them says makes no sense, no matter how many times Flash mentally repeats it.

“To clarify,” he rumbled, leaning forward and pinning Harrington with a cold look that made him wince. “You just stated, in front of witnesses, that Midtown School of Science and Technology received an official employment packet from Stark Industries, sent by our own courier and signed for by James Morita, Principal, and it was shredded. Without a single person even attempting to open it and at least review the contents.”

And no matter how hard he tries to process that, he can’t.

Because what he just heard is that Penis Parker works for Stark Industries and that can’t be true. It just can’t.

Itcan’titcan’titcan’titcan’titcan’t.

IT CAN’T.

He is so frantically trying to deny the truth that he is oblivious to anything else in the room, so he misses the arrival of Pepper Potts.

It’s hard to miss the fact that she suddenly starts breathing fire, though, and Flash presses himself into his chair in a desperate attempt to disappear, and it mostly works. Her ire is aimed at Harrington, thank God, and Flash begins to think he might just get out of here without getting in trouble.

After all, he was just following his teacher’s example, and as a minor, he can’t be held responsible for something as small and unimportant as accusing a classmate of lying, especially when the adult in charge of the field trip, his teacher, has also been saying it.

Flash’s confidence returns as he finally reasons himself out of panic and he is relaxing in his chair, watching Harrington get reamed out by Pepper Potts and enjoying it more than he probably should, when a woman’s voice echoes over hidden speakers and babbles something about labs and Penis and an email. He can’t figure out why that visibly terrifies everyone else in the room and is trying to decide if he wants to ask when he hears music he vaguely recognizes, just before the conference room doors explode open in a display that wouldn’t be out of place in a Lord of the Rings cosplay scene.

Then Tony Stark Himself saunters in the room and gives Harrington a look so terrifying, the man wets himself, which is both hysterical and worrying, because Harrington is generally hard to rattle.

But Tony Stark Himself is here! In the same room as Flash! This is one of his top three dreams and it’s come true!

Flash loses himself in the fantasy that he will get to speak directly to Tony Stark Himself and explain the truth about how he was misled and used, but that’s proof of his loyalty, and then Tony Stark Himself will offer Flash an internship, maybe even directly with him, and all of his dreams are about to come true and he will finally have what he deserves.

He is so lost in his fantasy that he doesn’t register anything after Tony Stark Himself’s entrance. Literally. He has no clue that he and Harrington are escorted to individual cars instead of the bus and is only vaguely aware he is taken home in an SI car with his mother’s permission, accompanied by two security guards and a lawyer. He does realize he’s arrived home when his mother pulls him through the front door, but it takes her lightly slapping his cheek to bring him all the way back to reality, blinking in bewilderment at the change of scenery and unable to explain what happened, much less why.

And then the first true demolition of his world happens. The security guards confiscate his phone and refuse to let him escape to his room so he can text his gang and post everything that’s happened to Twitter and Insta. Instead, after ascertaining that he’s unharmed, his mother forces him to sit at the dining room table and demands answers from the lawyer, who succinctly explains the basics of the situation, ending with the lawsuit against Harrington and Flash. After he finishes talking, there is a long, stunned silence, broken after maybe six minutes by Flash’s father giving him a level look before quietly asking, “Can you explain any of this, Flash?”

Well, no, he can’t. Not anymore. Not with the knowledge that Penis Parker does have a coveted, impossible internship with SI.

However, he is quick on his feet and started cobbling an explanation together when he realized Harrington was going down. His slightly-incoherent excuse and justification that he didn’t know it was a crime because the teacher was doing it too is given an incredulous look before his dad explains, in a tight, unhappy voice, that that isn’t the problem. It’s the fact that Flash thought it was okay to treat people that way, especially people he doesn’t know.

However, as he expected, his saving grace is the defense that Harrington not only didn’t reprimand him, but committed the same offense, so his actions are excused by his parents with the reasoning that yes, Flash should have known better than to make unfounded accusations, but he had no way of knowing it was an actual crime, especially since his teacher and field trip chaperone was doing it as well, so while it’s bad, it’s understandable.

“I’ll call Jason later today and see about getting this suit thrown out,” his mother tells the room at large, her eyes flitting between her son and the SI employees. “What Eugene did was not remotely acceptable, but he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone and was just following his teacher’s bad example. I understand why Ms. Potts is upset — we certainly are — but a lawsuit like this against a teenager who didn’t know any better is a serious overreaction.”

She pauses there and is visibly nonplussed when none of the SI employees react to that, before swallowing and adding, “Eugene will write every single person he accused an individual, hand-written note of apology for his behavior.” Her voice is a little hoarse now, which puzzles Flash, but he manages to look contrite when she turns her full attention to him and states, “It will be done by bedtime tonight, Eugene. We will have all — how many does he need to write?” she interrupts herself, looking back to the lawyer, who gives her a long look before saying, “Five.”

“Five?!”

That shocked cry is made in unison, his parents swiveling to give him matching looks of stunned disbelief, before his father’s eyes darken with angry disappointment and he growls, “You will have every single one of them done by 8 o’clock tonight, Eugene. And each one will be noticeably different. You will NOT pull a template off the internet and you will NOT just change the name. You will handwrite each one with a pen and paper and they will be written for that specific person. Do you understand?”

Flash understands perfectly. It sucks, but it could be a lot worse, so he nods without any objection. He is beyond relieved to have gotten off so lightly and is about to ask if he can get a snack when, after the lawyer unexpectedly provides the list of names and departments Flash will need, one of the security guards just has to open his big fat mouth to cite SI’s anti-bullying and harassment policies before asking why Flash calls Parker ‘Penis’.

Naturally, this goes over like a ton of bricks, and he is subjected to the humiliation of having both parents give him the disappointed look he tries very hard to avoid — and he is generally successful. It stings more than it should, but Flash is able to ignore it in favor of providing the explanation he’d long ago prepared, on the off-chance this particular issue ever came up.

“It’s how he’s known at school,” he begins carefully, making sure to look at his hands instead of his parents so they can’t see the satisfaction in his eyes. It’s the truth, yes, but he doesn’t want them to know he’s the reason for that. “Literally. Everyone calls him that and he answers to it, so I didn’t even think about it. It’s his school name.” He pauses there and turns to give the SI employees his best earnest look as he adds, “It was unprofessional and so was I, and I’m sorry. I should have behaved better today and I know that.”

His sincerity is evident, because Flash does mean it. He honestly didn’t know that he’d been accusing people of a crime, and he sure as hell didn’t realize the company was listening to him put Penis in his place, but it’s seriously hurt his chances at SI and he is not happy about that. It’s Parker’s fault for opening his stupid mouth and gloating about the opportunity he’d stolen from Flash, but he should have had better control today and waited until they were back at school to punish Penis.

Ah, well. The thought is chafing, but he’ll just have to find a creative way to make the dumpster diver pay for the humiliation and punishment he’s suffered today. This thought cheers him up and he looks back at his parents, knowing they’ll see the genuine remorse he feels about accidentally hurting his own prospects, and he prays they’ll believe he’s sorry for everything else. Thankfully, the reputation he’s built at Midtown, the one they hear about, holds up and they both readily accept his behavior as ‘standard teenage stupid’ instead of the deliberate, malicious bullying it really is.

As expected, he is grounded for the next month and his mom takes his phone and laptop before sending him to his room, which his dad has cleared of gaming consoles and the TV remote and cords, to get started on writing his apologies. This is coupled by a stern warning from his dad that he will be going to school tomorrow and he will also apologize to Penis in person, and there is no getting out of it. Even if he dies in his sleep, he’s still going to school tomorrow.

The prospect of being forced to apologize to Penis Parker destroys the relief at having escaped a much worse punishment and Flash fumes as he paces his room, getting even more worked up when he realizes that at least one of his parents — probably his dad, since he’s on the school board — will physically escort him to school tomorrow to make sure he does it.

Which means he’ll have to sound genuinely sincere. While saying ‘I’m sorry’ to Penis, who had clearly set all of this up to get back at Flash for making sure the school knows the truth about him.

Flash is a good actor, but he’s not sure he’s that good, and he can’t stop seething about the thought of apologizing to Penis the entire time he’s writing letters he doesn’t mean to people he doesn’t know but should have known better than to treat Parker like he was important in front of Flash and their classmates. It’s their own damn fault, but he knows better than to even hint at that. His parents are furious and will never see things his way, and frankly, writing letters is a lot better than having to go back and apologize in person. It’s bad enough he’ll have to do that tomorrow.

The reminder of what awaits him kills his appetite and he picks listlessly at the dinner tray his mother brings him. Thankfully, she doesn’t lecture him again; actually, she doesn’t speak at all. She simply puts the tray on the edge of his desk, gives him a long look of sorrow, disbelief, disappointment, and love that he studiously avoids returning, and silently leaves. Alone with his thoughts, Flash forces himself to finish the last two apologies and takes them and the tray downstairs. Neither parent is on the ground floor, so he simply the letters on his dad’s office desk and grabs a Monster before going back to his room.

He has nothing to do now, nothing to distract him, except for making plans to punish Parker for this farce. It’s all his fault. First he steals the internship that should have been Flash’s. Then he denies he’s done it, and then he has the audacity to get Flash in trouble for reacting to the situation Penis created. Knowing the little dumpster diver, he’d probably set all this up on purpose just to make Flash look bad. He wouldn’t have thought Parker was that clever, but there really isn’t another explanation that makes sense. And that thought sets him off all over again.

It takes a couple of hours for Flash to narrow his options down, but he finally settles on spreading the rumor that a) Stark is using Penis as a publicity stunt or b) Penis is sleeping with Stark (because once he realized that the man had chosen Penis instead of Flash, he became unworthy of the title of Tony Stark Himself) in exchange for his attention, because there is no possible way he’s smart enough or good enough to deserve to be there.

Or . . . oooh. Why doesn’t he combine them and make sure the grubby dumpster diver can’t even think of Tony Stark without feeling shame and embarrassment and knowing how unworthy he is. Given how badly he’s fucked up Flash’s life, it’s the least he deserves. And Flash will definitely make sure he understands exactly who he’s chosen to stand against and how little he matters, especially in comparison to Flash, but this — yeah. Offering sexual favors for an internship he doesn’t deserve and even then, only getting it so Stark can boost his own image is a solid start.

He doesn’t see his parents again that evening, which tells him how upset and unhappy they really are, and that’s another mark against Penis. How dare he turn Flash’s parents against him just because he doesn’t have any? His anger gives him a short burst of energy and he uses it to take a long shower, but the day’s events were apparently more tiring than he realizes, because he drifts off quickly and dreams of a world where Penis Parker doesn’t exist, so Flash’s life is perfect.

The next morning isn’t better. His parents are still upset and disappointed, and it’s the kind of disappointment that nothing will make better, which sends another pulse of anger at Penis through him. He schools his face immediately, though, because his father is watching him closely and he — oh, fuck. His dad is going to make him apologize to the worthless little dumpster diver.

That rage is harder to hide, but Flash has had a lot of practice and is able to use his cereal bowl as a shield until he can get his feelings under control, and his parents stay blissfully ignorant. Still without a word being spoken, they exchange one final look before his dad grabs the car keys and Flash his backpack, and they head to Midtown in a thick silence that unnerves even him after a while. He’s never been so grateful to arrive at school and almost falls in his haste to get away from the stifling confines of the car, looking around to see which members of his cadre are waiting. To his surprise, none of them are, but he only has time to frown in confusion before his dad takes his shoulder and escorts him into the building.

They go directly to Morita’s office, with Flash getting more and more upset at the prospect of facing Penis and saying that he was sorry . . . so when they are give the news that Parker has been called out for the day, the relief almost flattens Flash and it takes all his control to keep from laughing hysterically from the sudden release of tension. He doesn’t have to deal with Penis today at all, which will also give him the chance to start spreading the rumor that the only reason the dumpster diver has his internship is because he’s sucking Stark’s dick and the man rewarded him with a charity position to get better PR.

And, if he’s really lucky, his parents will forget about the apology to Penis over the weekend.

His father is dissatisfied with the news, but there’s nothing he can do, so he sighs heavily before escorting Flash to Homeroom. Still no words are exchanged, which is starting to get a little unnerving, but Flash isn’t stupid enough to say anything. Penis is gone and his dad is about to leave him alone for the day. And while it sucks that he doesn’t have his phone, he has people who will give him theirs, so he isn’t going to be completely off-grid. All in all, life is looking good.

“I’ll pick you up today right after the last bell,” his dad suddenly says, startling Flash back to the present, and he gives the man a wide-eyed look of surprise.

“I—” he starts, but is cut off with a firm, “You aren’t going to AcaDec today, and maybe not for the rest of the year. I have to speak with your principal first.”

This isn’t fair, but Flash manages to hold his tongue. If they’d been at home, he would have argued his case, but in no way does he want to have that conversation in school, so he nods, knowing his face is full of resentment and not caring, to which his father sighs but says nothing else. He waits until Flash enters the classroom and settles at his desk before heading back down the hall, and Flash is finally free from the smothering presence and heavy disappointment of his parents.

Remembering his plans for Penis — and again gloating over the fact that the loser was too cowardly to come today — Flash turns to Triple B (Bertrand Byron Burns, because his parents are old-fashioned and also didn’t want kids), who is the closest thing he has to a second-in-command, eager to exchange news and gossip.

And pauses when he sees that the other boy is very deliberately not looking at him.

What th—what’s going on?

Puzzled, Flash takes a slow look around the room and goes cold when he realizes that none of the students are looking at him. Several of them are making it a point about how deliberately they are giving their attention to anything and anyone but him. He is being so thoroughly ignored, he wonders for a few seconds if he woke up in the wrong body and everyone thinks he’s really Penis.

Confused, hurt, and maybe even a little afraid, Flash swallows before he summons the determination that drives his life and straightens in his seat. They think they’ll get away with ignoring him? They have another think coming. But he’s patient and cunning, and he can bide his time if he needs to.

Besides, this might be the teacher’s doing. Flash relaxes a little at that thought, because it makes sense. Mrs. Herman is a stickler for order and discipline and it’s entirely possible she informed everyone that there was to be no talking at all today, nor are people allowed to look around the room. Sometimes, she gets a bug up her butt and does that, which irritates everyone, but it’s only one class, so they all suck it up and deal with it.

Reassured at this notion, Flash turns his attention to jotting his plans for Penis down in his notebook, smoothing out the rough edges and filling in some minor details to make it more believable. He’s so engrossed that the bell catches him off-guard and he nearly drops his pen, and that distraction keeps him from realizing that people are exiting the room in the same total silence they’d spent the class in. Flash is one of the last stragglers and it takes him a minute to find Curtis, one of his most reliable (but not trusted) minions, and he heads in that direction, calling his name.

Only to be completely ignored.

. . . what?

Okay, something is officially wrong. Curtis — hell, the entire student body — knows better than to ignore him, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. And since they’re out of Herman’s class, there is no reason people should still be ignoring him, especially not his own gang members.

He snaps Curtis’ name again and is again summarily ignored . . . by everyone. He’s getting plenty of sideways looks, but no one is even trying to directly interact with him, not even the kids who are constantly vying for his attention in a bid to join him in ruling the school instead of becoming his next target.

What in the fuck is going on?!

He does not get an answer to his hysterical thought. He doesn’t even get a hint, and his mood sours as he stalks to his second class, unable to understand why the entire school is treating him this way. He has a strong urge to look in a mirror and make sure that he wasn’t somehow switched into Penis’ body, or maybe Leeds, but the warning bell rings first, so he growls in irritation and goes to his desk, making sure to ignore the other students as completely as they are him.

This time, however, the room is full of soft chatter, which tells Flash that whatever is going on has to do with him. But he still doesn’t have a clue why and there isn’t anyone to ask, because he’s made several subtle attempts to get certain people’s attention and been rebuffed every time.

Puzzled and angry, Flash settles in for another awkward lesson, absently wondering about the sudden boom that faintly echoes through the room out of nowhere, only for the door to open maybe fifteen minutes into the period to reveal Morita’s receptionist. She doesn’t look at him as she tells Sidmouth that his presence is required in the principal’s office, and the teacher doesn’t meet his eyes as he gestures for Flash to leave. The only thing he says is, “Take your things, Flash, just in case.”

That’s ominous and Flash’s stomach roils as he follows Patty down the hall. He’s fretting about the summons, because it means that what happened yesterday is still an issue — which doesn’t make sense. Harrington is the adult, the teacher, so he should be the one in trouble, not Flash, who only followed his example. He tries once to ask her what’s going on, but he might as well be invisible, and they make the trip in dead silence.

When she pushes open Morita’s office door and gestures him through, he gives her a sardonic look she pretends not to see and lifts his head, determined to show no fear and no weakness.

So when he’s met by the presence of his stone-faced father, several grim-faced cops, a fire-breathing Pepper Potts, and an incensed Tony Stark, it catches him so completely by surprise, he doesn’t even notice the crowd on the other side of the room (several teachers, Morita and his vice principal, the school counselors, and a bunch of people he wouldn’t recognize if he had seen them, but would learn was the entirety of the school board).

For an endless minute, no one speaks, and the temperature in the room is so hot, Flash quickly soaks his shirt with sweat. He tries a few times to say something to his father, who is staring at him with an expression Flash can’t understand, but his throat is so dry, he can’t form a single word.

Then one of the cops steps forward, takes his right wrist in an iron grip, and—

WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?

Flash is being handcuffed and not a single person is trying to stop it — including his own father!!!

As the cop brings his left arm behind his back, a different officer finally speaks, and Flash’s world comes to a screeching halt.

“Eugene Thompson, you are under arrest for aggravated assault and battery,” the man intones, looking disgusted, and Flash just . . . stops.

He—this—what—how—WHAT?!

He has no chance to try to ask, though. Stark gives him a look of such scorching contempt that he takes an involuntary step back and runs into the cop who handcuffed him, stumbling to keep his balance. Hot satisfaction fills the man’s eyes at that before he makes an angry hand gesture and the TV on the wall starts playing a video.

Wh—oh.

Oh, no.

He doe—wait. Waitwaitwait.

There are cameras in the gym?!

Oh, shit. He is so screwed.

Despite knowing how bad this is, watching himself shove Penis into the bleachers is just as satisfying the second time, and he can see from this angle that his hissed condemnation had affected the dumpster diver a lot more than he thought. Finally knowing that he’d managed to hurt Penis makes him forget the fact that he is in handcuffs and he basks in the knowledge that he had won that day, even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

“Eugene.”

The sound of his birth name, falling from his father’s lips in a tone of voice Flash has never heard, pulls his attention back to the present and he swallows hard when he sees the appalled look on the face that is so similar to his own.

It wasn’t a question. That’s the most frightening thing about this entire insane day and Flash feels the first real stab of fear. He tries to flex his arms, only to stop cold when his wrists don’t move, and his eyes flick back to the TV, paused on the image of him walking away and leaving Parker in a broken heap on the bleachers. The clanking of the cuffs is shockingly loud in the room and he swallows again before managing to meet his dad’s eyes.

“Sir?” he asks, sounding meek to his own ears, and mentally cringing. He’d intended to sound confident and assured, but the situation is so unnerving and he is completely out of his depths, and not a single person there is willing to help him.

Including his own father.

Elliot Thompson is staring intently at his son, expression dark and eyes darker. Flash doesn’t have a clue what he’s looking for but he doesn’t find it, because after an eternity of stilted silence, he just sighs and gestures to the cops. “Let’s go,” he tells them quietly. “I’ll call our lawyer once we get to the station, but we aren’t going to dispute the charges, or fight them.”

. . . WHAT?!?!?!

“Dad!” he gasps, finally finding his voice, only to choke when Tony Stark actually growls and takes several aggressive steps in his direction. Flash’s dad takes a sharp breath and tenses, but he doesn’t stop the man, and Flash is terrified when Stark lifts a shaking hand and points at him.

“This has been a long time coming, you little asshole,” he hisses, fury making his eyes blaze gold instead of brown. “You have tortured and tormented and bullied my kid for years and God knows how many others while these worthless excuses for teachers egged you on. Well, you finally fucked up in front of me — and you are going to prison. I have more evidence than even I can believe and Peter didn’t make a single objection when I told him what I wanted to do. Congratulations, Flash,” he jeers, getting so close that his breath scorches Flash’s nose. “You actually managed to exhaust the goodwill of a kid who apologizes to doors when he bumps into them. And don’t think for a second you’re going to get a deferred sentence or probation and community service. You are going to prison. And the first thing you’re going to learn is that you don’t have a clue what being the top dog really is. You are going to get eaten alive and you deserve every second of it.”

Flash doesn’t realize he’s wet himself until he feels his left sock suddenly get wet. He is staring at Stark, terrified beyond words, and desperate for comfort he doesn’t get. His father doesn’t say a word in his defense, and none of the cops try to stop Stark from threatening him.

“Tony, enough,” Pepper Potts suddenly says, stepping forward and placing a delicate hand on Stark’s arm. He takes a deep, angry breath through his nose and then obediently steps back.

But his eyes never leave Flash’s and the raw hatred sizzling in them suddenly makes everything real. Flash goes cold.

“For the record, Mr. Thompson, I agree completely with my fiancé. But he’s already blown up one building today and I refuse to let him kill you, because you don’t deserve to get off that lightly or that easily.”

. . . what?!

Flash can’t even whimper; he is too shocked and afraid. But he also can’t look away from the woman whose red hair is faintly singed, a direct result of the fire she’d been breathing when Flash was first shoved into this nightmare. Her blue eyes are ringed with what looks horrifyingly like flames and he can’t even blink.

“No,” she tells him, lips curving in a smile so malicious, even the cops flinch — but Flash’s dad doesn’t do a thing. He doesn’t try to intervene, or even speak in his son’s defense. He just stands there, staring at the floor, shoulders hunched as he allows Flash to be humiliated and treated like — like he’s Penis Parker. “As Tony said, we’re going to ensure that you are charged as an adult. You will go to prison, and there will be no leniency. We know everything, Mr. Thompson. Peter wasn’t as forthcoming as we wished, but Ned was, and so was MJ. And so were quite of few of your fellow classmates who were on the field trip yesterday.”

She says nothing else, but she doesn’t need to. Flash finally understands: he has been betrayed. Every single person who owes him their loyalty or their gratitude has turned on him and left him hanging to save their own skins.

Unable to control his emotions any longer, he’s humiliated to feel hot tears spill down his cheeks while rage and betrayal and confusion and disbelief and fear fight for dominance. He doesn’t even realize he’s being led down the hall, his father following silently, and he’s oblivious to the stares of the people watching him being frog-marched and handcuffed out of the building.

It isn’t until he’s pushed into a car, with no gentleness, that he starts coming to back to himself. But things don’t become real until the door is slammed shut and his father turns away with a single backward glance, heading for his own car as he pulls out his phone.

Alone.

Flash is alone.

He has been arrested and is sitting in a cop card, handcuffed and alone, without a single word of comfort or reassurance from his father.

He doesn’t remember the ride to the station, but he will never forget the degradation of being fingerprinted and forced to stand in front of the lineup wall while his picture is taken for his mugshot.

And he will never forget the look on his mother’s face when she arrives. The horror at seeing her son being treated like a common criminal is clear, but her disappointment is a million times stronger, and she doesn’t speak to him or even try to hug him. She doesn’t even ask his side of the story. And, like his father, she makes no objection to the charges, nor do either of them try to plead for leniency. In fact, during that initial interview, Flash might as well not exist. Being so completely betrayed by his parents, who have never been anything but supportive, is shocking and frightening and he doesn’t understand why they are abandoning him like this.

But somewhere along the way, Flash lost his voice and all he can do is sit in silent misery and listen to cops and lawyers discuss sentence lengths and prison options like a guilty verdict is a forgone conclusion, while his parents say nothing aside from the occasional request for clarification.

It isn’t until Flash has been pulled to his feet to be taken to a holding cell that his mother finally speaks to him, and shatters the rest of his world.

“I love you so much, Eugene,” she whispers, tears running freely down her cheeks and her beautiful face contorted with agony. “I do. But I cannot speak for you or try to advocate for you. Not now. We don—we—you have been hurting people for years, Eugene. Years. And I . . . we . . . as God as my witness, I don’t know what to say. You have lied to everyone for so long and hurt so many people that I — that we — have no choice but to allow you to face the full consequences of your actions.”

Stunned, betrayed, Flash can’t do anything but stare blankly at her. He feels like he’s floating, almost like his soul has left his body, and his expression is blank as he looks from his mother to his father and back, unmoved when she can’t choke back a sob and whispers, “I don’t want to lose you permanently, baby, but that’s what will happen if we intervene now or try to stop this. You cannot bully and intimidate people all your life, because one day, someone will pull a weapon and — and — and I can’t live with that! I won’t! I have to make a choice: your life or your future and I will choose your life every time.”

She dissolves into wet, heaving sobs and collapses against his father’s chest. Elliot’s face is agonized as he holds his wife, and that anguish deepens as he looks up at his son. “I’m sorry, Eugene. But your mother is right. If you don’t stop now and change your behavior and attitude, you’re going to lose everything. You’ve wasted every chance you had until now, because nobody tried to stop you, and now it’s just too late. We don’t have any other choices now.”

Numb, Flash nods but doesn’t try to talk. There’s no point; clearly, he’s already been declared a lost cause by everyone and his parents don’t care enough to even try to get him out of this. So when his mother reaches out to caress his cheek, he flinches. He doesn’t want her pity or her fake regret. She isn’t going to help him, so he wants nothing from her.

Her face falls at his reaction, but she doesn’t push it. She simply dissolves into tears again and leaves the room, giving him one last look that is full of sorrow Flash knows she doesn’t mean. His father sighs and says, “I’m sorry.” His voice is heavy with what is supposed to be regret, but Flash knows better and he just nods again. His parents have made their choice and it isn’t him.

He’s been abandoned. Discarded. Thrown away like a broken DVD player.

Well, so be it.

He’s always done his best alone and this will be no different.

Three weeks later — Tony Stark has money, influence, and righteous rage on his side, and apparently, the evidence is more than compelling enough to negate the need for live testimony, meaning a trial can take place immediately — Flash holds onto the thought that alone equals strength when he stands before a judge and his parents. And Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. And several classmates (he doesn’t know or care if Penis is one of them). To round things off, several total strangers are in the courtroom because they're addicted to legal drama and Boston Legal isn't currently in syndication. 

He sits, stone-faced, as the entire room sees and listens to him harass, taunt, torment, and put in their places all of the people who have stolen opportunities and honors from him, or defied his edicts, or annoyed him too many times. His actions and reasoning are clear and Flash, behind the numbness, feels a small spurt of outrage at not being informed that he was being recorded.

When the montage is finally over, the courtroom is unnaturally silent and Flash has to fight to keep from fidgeting — not from nerves, but because he is once again handcuffed and thus has no way to release the nervous energy thrumming through him — as he watches the judge stare silently at his bench for several minutes, jaw working as he tries to think of what to say. Then he lifts his head and looks directly at Flash, and the expression on his face is terrible. Flash can’t identify all the emotions, but contempt is obvious and so is horror, and that tells him everything.

He has lost. There will be no leniency for him, no compassion.

He clenches his jaw and steels his resolve as the judge takes a deep breath, then asks, “Mr. Thompson, do you have anything to say before I announce my decision?”

Does he have anything to say?!

That’s the funniest thing Flash has ever heard, because he has plenty to say, but not to these people. Even if he was sorry, they wouldn’t believe him. They are hungry for their revenge for his perceived wrongdoings, so it doesn’t matter what he says and they all know it.

His chin lifted with pride, Flash gives a single shake of his head and says, “No, Sir. I don’t.”

His simple answer makes the room’s silence deepen and the judge gives him a look so full of disappointment, it would break most people. Flash just blinks.

“Very well, Mr. Thompson,” he says heavily, suddenly looking old and worn out. “Based on the visual and audio evidence provided, the many witness and victim statements, and your plea of No Contest, I have no choice but to find you guilty of all charges of assault, battery, aggravated assault, and aggravated battery.”

Not a single sound breaks the silence at this pronouncement and the tension stretches out a little finer, becomes a little more taut, before it’s finally shattered by his next words.

“Due to your complete lack of remorse or even the understanding that your actions were wrong, but also the fact that you have caused deliberate, malicious, and severe physical and emotional harm to multiple underage fellow students over the course of several years, I hereby sentence you to five years in Rikers Island, without the possibility of parole.”

He pauses again, watching Flash closely, eyes full of dark knowledge, while a soft buzz of conversation began to fill the room. Flash ignores it, as does the judge, and they stare at each other for a minute before the judge sighs and tells him, with what sounds like complete sincerity, “I wish you maturity, Mr. Thompson. Because there will not be a second chance. If you don’t change your course now, you are unlikely to have the opportunity later.”

It’s the same crap he’s heard for the last three weeks, but Flash has enough sense to keep his face expressionless. The last thing he needs is to piss the judge off and get a worse sentence by showing his contempt for this whole kangaroo court, so he manages a nod that, to the outside observer, would indicate either agreement or acknowledgement.

He gets another long, even look in reply and wonders if the judge has actually seen through the façade, but the man says nothing else and dismisses the court. His weeping parents stagger to his table, faces full of agony and loss that he knows are only for show, and he forces himself to allow his mother to hug him, though he makes no effort to return it or try to soothe her.

She had her chance, and so did his father, and instead of supporting him, their only child, they threw him away.

Fine. Since they don’t want him, he doesn’t need them.

“We’ll come to visit. Soon,” his father tells him quietly, earnestly, and Flash shrugs.

“Okay,” he replies, and leaves it at that.

For whatever reason, that breaks his mother and his father gives him one last look before pulling her away and keeping her face tucked into his chest so she doesn’t see Flash being led back to the holding cells. What he does see is Tony Stark placing a commiserating hand on his father’s shoulder while Pepper Potts squeezes his mother’s hand and whispers something to both his parents. He sees Stark look up and meet his eyes, bare his teeth in a parody of a smile, and raise his gauntleted hand. The repulsor is primed and for the first time in three weeks, Flash feels a hot rush of fear.

It darkens to cold dread when Stark sneers and retracts the gauntlet, looking so satisfied that it should be illegal, because his point is impossible to miss. Iron Man himself is satisfied with the results of this trial, and Flash never had a chance.

His father successfully keeps his mother from seeing him being taken to prison, but he can’t stop Flash from seeing his former classmates, and every single one of them gives him a vicious, triumphant smile as he passes by. It is . . . unexpected. And very unsettling, though he does his best to ignore them.

Then, out of nowhere, someone whispers, “Bully.”

The word rings loudly in the sudden silence and Flash stumbles.

Just a tiny, missed step. But it's enough.

“Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.”

It echoes through the room, creating a harmonic effect, until Flash can’t hear anything else.

“Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.” “Bully.”

The ugly truth, deserved condemnation, and vindicated justice follows him out of the courtroom, into his cell at Rikers, and into his nightmares.

It is a reality he will never escape. Not in the five years he spends learning what it means to be one of his own victims. Not in the five years he spends utterly alone, despite the visits from his parents, because his pride will not allow him to apologize or yield — though even if it did, it would make no difference. He never does think that what he did was truly wrong. He was worthy and they were not, and since they couldn’t or wouldn’t give him what was rightfully his due, he made sure they couldn’t enjoy it or take true advantage of the opportunity.

Bully.

It is a reality that will sabotage his future, because his parents are forced to realize that he isn’t growing up, he isn’t maturing, and he isn’t going to change. He doesn't know that because of not just his actions but also his utter lack of remorse or even regret, that in addition to being forced to resign from the school board, his father loses his position in the consulting firm and can’t get anything else of a remotely-similar nature. He does eventually find work, but it is an entry-level position well below his skill set and abilities, and at a quarter of the income. His mother is able to keep her position because she openly denounces his actions and behavior, but it is uncomfortable for everyone and despite her stellar work, she is never considered for a promotion.

The only saving grace for his parents, in fact, is that once he is released and they help him move into a halfway house, her company agrees to her request to be transferred to their office in Germany. It breaks their hearts, but they have seen the truth of their son and they cannot be in such close proximity to him, because he isn’t going to change, which means he will have no success in his life, but they are his parents and cannot simply stand by and watch him suffer. Leaving is the only option to preserve their sanity. And if Pepper Potts hadn’t had empathy and showed mercy and retracted SI’s lawsuit, they would have been financially ruined, never to recover.

But Flash knows none of this, because he doesn’t care. They became strangers to him the second they chose to let him face the consequences of his actions instead of getting him out of trouble and shielding him, so he has no interest in their lives — though it is a very unpleasant shock when he’s released and they pick him up, only to promptly take him to a halfway house instead of home. Their explanation falls on deaf ears and, though he doesn’t know it, that will be the last time he sees them.

Bully.

It is a truth he refuses to acknowledge or understand, not once in the forty-one years after he gets out and fails to truly learn how to live in a world where he is nobody and people aren’t afraid of him.

Bully.

It laughs in his dreams and taints his failures and echoes through his every waking thought.

Bully.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Memories (Bitter, Tainted, Blood-Soaked Memories)

When the final battle was over and Thanos, his armies, and everyone who had wished harm to Earth and her allies was nothing but dust (including Wanda Maximoff, but nobody would know that until much later), Tony Stark caught Spiderman in a hug so fierce and so desperate, even the most battle-hardened warriors turned away to give them their privacy. When Pepper Potts finally couldn’t stand it another second and shed the Rescue armor so she could join the ecstatic embrace, hugging the young vigilante for all he was worth before kissing Tony so passionately that the grass beneath their feet caught fire (it was a small one, okay? And they’d definitely earned the privilege), those same battle-hardened warriors cleared their throats, pulled at necklines that were suddenly too tight, and began firmly herding people away from the tender, if not totally safe for all audiences, reunion.

And that was where the trouble began.

Clint Barton, having gone more than a little insane when his entire family was Dusted, had been forced to watch his partner and best friend throw herself off a cliff so they could get the Soul Stone and finally stop Thanos and fix everything he had destroyed.

That was enough to make anyone bitter, and people would have understood.

However.

Barton wasn’t just drowning in grief. He was also burning with a dark, acidic rage — and it found its target in Tony Stark, who not only had the audacity to reunite with his family on the blood-soaked battlefield, but was the reason the war had happened to begin with. If he hadn’t been so egotistical and so petty and so childish and so determined to be the center of everyone’s attention, then maybe people would have listened when he warned this exact invasion was coming more than a decade ago.

It was his fault that Clint had lost his entire family, that Steve had lost Barnes and T’Challa’s death had left Shuri devastated. And Stark, of course, had lost nothing. Hell, he’d actually had a kid! While everyone else was suffering and grieving and wandering the planet, trying to figure out what they were going to do next, drowning in desolation and loss and grief, he’d gotten married, moved to the middle of nowhere to hide from the planet he’d fucked over, and had a kid, like nothing was wrong.

Like he hadn’t caused the worst catastrophe the universe would ever see.

Like he wasn’t the reason Nat was dead.

Before Barton was able to get to Stark, an orange portal suddenly sparked to life between him and his target, stopping him dead, and someone began lining people up and escorting them off the battlefield and into the Wakandan palace. Fuming and almost choking on his fury and his heartbreak, Barton didn’t notice when Steve took his arm and, along with the rest of the team, stepped from filthy chaos to sterile order. The change was so jarring, it knocked Barton out of his dreams of killing Stark with his bare hands, using his explosive arrows, but losing his rage meant he had no defense against the tidal wave of grief.

When Wilson escorted — well, ‘dragged’ was more accurate — him to a shower and pushed him into the water, fully clothed, the shock of cool water hitting his face was enough and Barton finally came back to the present. He stripped, throwing his bloody, torn, soaked clothes on the floor and scrubbing himself until his skin was red and raw and stinging. But he finally felt human, and his thoughts were mostly clear.

The first thought he had was how to find Laura and his kids. The second was how to get to them. The third was making sure that Nat came with him, because she was his best friend, his sister and their aunt, and they loved her. The fourth was remembering with brutal clarity that she was dead. He didn't remember the fifth. His sixth thought was remembering why she was dead.

His seventh thought was that he was going to kill Stark, it was going to be slow and agonizing, and he wouldn’t let the arrogant bastard finally die until he’d groveled for forgiveness for every wrong he’d done, and not just to Barton and Nat. He was going to acknowledge every way he’d fucked up with the Avengers and the Accords and the world.

Everything was his fault, and he was finally going to pay.

He didn’t know it, but his eyes were wild even though his face was grim, and the sight made Wilson swallow hard. He didn’t say anything, though; he just handed Clint fresh clothes that almost fit and a hunk of the bread they’d all learned to hate after eating it every single day for nearly three years. Right now, though, it was food, and Barton was lost in his haze of grief and rage, so he swallowed it in two huge bites, chugged the entire pitcher of water like he was a frat boy at a kegger, then stalked to the door, with Wilson scrambling to follow him.

“Where’s Stark?” Clint demanded, searching the hallway for any sign of his prey and finding none.

“Uhh . . . Maria said something about a debrief when everyone was cleaned up and had eaten. They’re waiting in the main conference room,” Wilson replied carefully. He was familiar with Clint’s rage, after all, having been forced to listen to him for three years, but this . . . this was different.

And Sam Wilson was afraid.

He just didn’t know why.

Then they got to the meeting, only to discover they were the last ones, and Steve gave them a warm smile of welcome as he shifted his chair over so his teammates could sit beside him. Blowing out a soft sigh of relief, Sam settled in at his left shoulder, since Barnes was on the other side, and gave both men a somewhat wan smile, which tightened when Clint huffed angrily and dropped into his chair so loudly, it stopped every conversation in the room.

And he ignored everyone in favor of glaring at Stark with such intense hatred that it sizzled and Sam half-expected to see the other man drop dead from a smoking hole in his chest.

Instead, Stark just lifted an eyebrow, waiting patiently for Barton to speak. When he didn’t, Stark gave a careless shrug and turned his attention back to Maria Hill, who picked up their conversation about casualties as though nothing had happened.

When she told Stark that Natasha had died so they could get the Soul Stone, he went very still. His face was so blank, Wilson winced; he didn’t know it was possible to submerge your emotions so quickly and so thoroughly, but trust Tony Stark to show off, even in the middle of an impromptu wake.

When he sighed and slumped back in his chair, suddenly looking exhausted, his former team felt a smidge of sympathy, unwilling as it was. After all, this entire mess was his fault.

But Natasha had been a friend and her death was a raw, aching wound for all of them.

Then he glanced at Pepper, who was sitting on his left, and said, “Thank God for that. Now I don’t have to deal with trying to keep her contained long enough to actually get through a trial.”

The room went so quiet, the soft burbling of a water fountain two corridors down sounded like it was screaming.

Nobody knew how long that awful, choked silence lasted before Steve finally gasped, “What?!”

Unruffled, Stark glanced up and said, “’What’ what?”

After another minute of disbelieving silence, Steve blurted, “Nat’s dead, Tony! How can you be — you — how can you be happy about that?!”

Those expressive brown eyes went cold and Wilson shivered, though he didn’t know why.

“Really?” Stark drawled, leaning back in a pose that was deliberately arrogant and designed to provoke tempers. Judging by both Clint and Steve's faces, it was working. “Do you hon—oh. You do.” A bitter laugh made everyone shift uncomfortably before he pinned Steve with eyes so full of hate that even Barton was startled.

Steve was just stunned.

Then Stark started talking.

“Let me explain a few things to you, Rogers. I’ll use words with as few syllables as possible, but I’m still gonna need you to keep up. I despise Natasha Romanova. From the literal second I met her, she has done nothing but lie to me, steal from me, cheat me, threaten my company and the few people I really care about, manipulate me, use me, and stab me in the neck, back, stomach, and anywhere else she could put a knife, before she finally openly betrayed me and then had the sheer gall to tell me it was my fault because of my ego. She’s a despicable person and she was never my teammate, much less my friend, and I stopped being stupid enough to think that a long time ago,” he sneered, so furious the room was subtly shaking.

Everyone else gave the walls a wary glance.

Stark didn't notice. He was oblivious to his own power in a way that was downright terrifying.

“If she wasn’t dead, I’d be hauling her off in handcuffs, same as I’m going to do to you when we’re done here, because she was just as much of a war criminal and terrorist as you,” he spit, jaw rigid with his effort to stay in control. “And on a personal level, I’m so relieved I could cry. Because now I don’t have to worry about her lying to me and manipulating me so she can get her special Pirozhki and Syrniki, because God forbid she treat me like a person and just fucking ask. I don’t have to brace myself against another snide comment about my ego and how childish I am but still useful if I can get my need for attention under control — every single time she wanted something. And heaven forbid I say something that wasn’t, ‘Yes, Parasitical Team Member, of course I’ll do whatever you want right this second’, or offer unsolicited help or an opinion. That was a surefire way to be accused of being egotistical, because the world only revolves around me when I can do something for her.”

He stopped and took several deep, calming breaths. It was extremely disquieting to see how badly he needed them.

Then he looked up. And his rage cracked the solid marble table in half.

“I can sleep tonight knowing she hasn’t tried to hack FRIDAY again so she can break into my penthouse — my home — just to make sure I understand she has zero respect for me and could kill me if she wanted to and she decided I was worth her time.”

He paused again, eyes still ice cold and glittering with violent rage, and gave the stunned, horrified group of Avengers a bitter smile that made them flinch.

“Before you squawk about how her ‘noble sacrifice’ erases everything she did, every crime she ever committed, allow me to save us all from your bullshit,” he hissed, waving his hand sharply in the air and grinning like a madman when a holographic display appeared from nowhere.

“I—how?” Shuri gasped, shocked, and got a look so condescending, she cringed back.

“You’re bright, Princess,” he told her, voice ringing with sincerity that almost overshadowed his disdain for her arrogance. “But not that bright. You don’t have my experience. You don’t have my sheer genius. You don’t have my raw skills with technology. And . . . well, you cheat. If you didn’t have vibranium and access to the outside world, so you can steal technology and reverse-engineer it, you’d still be stuck in the ‘90s.” He effortlessly ignored her outraged yowl and T’Challa stiffening in insult, and added, “Also, I’m Tony Fucking Stark. Isn’t that right, JARVIS?”

“Indeed you are, Sir,” came a warm male voice, his British accent sounding hilariously incongruous in the middle of Wakanda and startling almost everyone in the room.

“Damn right,” Stark agreed with a sharp nod before turning his attention back to Steve. Watching the icy mask descend over his features was one of the most frightening things Sam had ever seen and it took way too much effort to keep from shoving his chair back so he could avoid any attention from Stark, accidental or not, while the display flickered again and then a picture of Nat popped up.

She was wearing lingerie and posing provocatively.

. . . huh?

“This was my literal first introduction to Natasha,” Stark told the room, though his eyes never left Steve’s. “She included this in her CV when she applied to SI under Fury’s orders, because my type is a curvy redhead with a brain. He wanted to steal as much of my technology and designs as he could, and money if it was possible. But he also wanted — well, okay, he said he wanted an evaluation done on me, you see, and thought the honeypot spy assassin with no actual psychological training or experience was the best choice for that. Now, understand, Fury and Romanova both knew going in that I was dying of Palladium poisoning. They knew,” he spat, eyes blazing with cold flames that made the room feel downright comfortable in the middle of Wakanda's natural heat. It was even more terrifying than watching the table split in half just from the force of his rage.

“That’s why Fury sent her: because he honestly thought so little of me that he assumed I’d hire her based solely on her naked picture,” he jeered, giving Barton a contemptuous look that made him stiffen with outrage that was, again, effortlessly ignored. “The problem is that I knew something was wrong, but I had severe heavy metal poisoning. I couldn’t think clearly enough to drill it down, much less make sense of it. Plus, my attention was focused on trying to find or create a cure because I didn't want to die. Only, instead of telling me that SHIELD had some of Howard’s stuff and suspected there was a solution there, or a cure, Fury sent in a honeypot assassin to ‘evaluate’ me and also shadow Pepper and threaten her in case I failed to cooperate and needed to be reined in. I had to be controlled, you see. And Fury was the only person who was qualified, because he's just so trustworthy.”

This appalled silence was broken by Pepper’s sharp breath at the old, unpleasant memory — and the dawning realization of several things she should have realized more than a decade ago.

“And because Romanova was so stupid and so arrogant and so lazy that she didn’t even bother to research heavy metal poisoning,” Stark continued, voice dripping with acidic contempt, “not to mention she’d decided who I was before she ever stepped foot in my building, she wrote that bullshit report that Fury showed Barton, and Rogers when he first woke up, and maybe Banner. Fury knew it was crap, of course, but it suited him perfectly to have his figurehead hate me right off the bat, along with his other pet spy. He couldn’t control me any other way and God forbid he actually treat me like a real person and talk to me, explain things. No, he had to play his games and enact his little schemes and fuck everyone over in the process.”

He paused again, enjoying the shock on several faces — and the guilt on several others — before nodding at thin air. The picture changed to a video and nearly forty people got to witness Tony Stark showing genuine vulnerability as his fear of dying overcame his mask just for a second . . . and they all watched Natasha Romanova smile at him, so sweetly and so maliciously, and then encourage him, in horrifyingly plain English, to self-destruct if that’s what he wanted to do.

Flames shot from Pepper’s mouth as she gave a wordless cry of rage, smothered instantly by Spiderman’s web, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to comfort her while Stark turned to his wife but because of his own anger, he couldn’t risk touching her, and murmured, “Stop. That wasn’t your fault. No matter who did what, she and Fury were dead set on screwing me over. They wanted me broken and pitiful and so desperate for their attention and approval and an invitation to their little boyband that I'd willingly submit to their control. She would have done literally whatever it took. Do not blame yourself.”

Drawing a shaky breath, Pepper nodded and allowed herself to rest against the young man nobody knew she’d already mentally and emotionally adopted, while Tony watched her, eyes full of concern, until he was satisfied she was okay and stable enough for him to continue enthralling the room.

Which he did.

“Then, of course, we have the coup de grâce, where Fury bragged about knowing I was dying and withholding both the cure and a stopgap measure until the last possible second, to make sure I understood that he and SHIELD were in control of my life, not me, but he would give me the stopgap out of the sheer graciousness of his heart,” he snarled, demeanor going icy again, while a different video started to play.

And an appalling number of people who had done nothing but disparage Tony Stark from the second they met him or heard about him watched as their teammate, someone they had lauded as a hero, smugly taunted him with her betrayal before literally stabbing him in the neck with a syringe.

Wilson was horrified. Steve was shocked. Barton was indifferent.

Maybe that should have been the first clue.

“So don’t tell me that I’m being mean to Nat, or disrespecting her memory. She literally did nothing but stab me in the back the entire time I knew her — and that includes not telling me that Barnes there murdered my parents on HYDRA’s orders, or that you knew. Don’t even,” he snapped, slashing a hand and cutting off Steve’s protest, while the rest of the room was trying to make sense of what he’d just said.

Barnes had killed the Starks? But — but they’d died in a car wreck, caused because Howard was drunk.

Hadn’t they?

In an effort to assimilate that, most of them turned to Steve in a silent demand for answers he wouldn’t give but his mulish facial expression said anyway, while Stark continued to destroy both Rogers' and Romanova’s names and reputations with the first group of people who could actually do something about it.

“You are too stupid and too ignorant about technology to have a clue what you were doing when you dumped SHIELD’s files online,” he informed the erstwhile Captain America, vindictive satisfaction filling his voice now. “That means Romanova did it. Logically, that also means she knew the truth about the Winter Soldier and my parents. She had to. And just like you, she kept her mouth shut while stealing from me, lying to me, using me, putting me down at every opportunity she could create, and finally openly betraying me. So yeah, Rogers, I’m fucking thrilled she’s dead. If I weren’t so exhausted, I’d dance on her grave.”

That was finally too much for Barton, who exploded out of his chair and threw himself around the table. He was heading straight for Stark, with a knife in each hand and death in his eyes, when the man in question simply lifted his arm. The repulsor blast landed exactly two inches ahead of where the archer skidded to a dead stop and he stood there, shaking with impotent rage, and gave Stark a murderous glare when the other man — without lowering his arm — simply raked him with another contemptuous glance and taunted, “Oh, come on, Barton. You know her so well, so you have to know why she threw herself off that cliff.”

Barton snarled, hands twitching, but Stark’s aim didn’t waver and that pale blue light was a lot more threatening than it should be.

But for some reason, he said nothing, not even to defend Nat, and the engineer finally sighed.

“No, you don’t know, do you? You really are that naïve . . . or just that good at lying to yourself. Okay, then, Legolas, let me explain,” he said curtly, finally dropping his arm. There was no sympathy in his voice even though he’d obviously just come to some kind of understanding, and despite themselves, the rest of the room was curious.

“It was just you and her, and the price for the stone is a willing sacrifice. A soul for a soul. And of course, you two fought over it, because even when you’re alone, you can’t let the masks drop, so you both had to pretend to be noble so the other person wouldn’t feel guilty about committing suicide. But the thing is, she’d made her decision the second she accepted the inevitable. Like everything she did, it was a power play. Straight truth, Barton,” Stark said, his voice suddenly going gentle and scaring them all witless. “She wasn’t stupid. She knew that if she came back with the Soul Stone, people would vilify her for letting you, the man with a wife and kids, die. Even though you abandoned them to become a terrorist war criminal, they were still your family,” he added, the pointed jab making Steve and Sam wince. Barton went pale, but he still didn’t speak. Sam didn’t think he could, because what Stark was saying made an awful, horrible kind of sense, and the ring of truth could not be ignored.

Then it somehow got worse.

“She also knew how unbalanced people’s emotions were going to be once everything was over — and she understood how precarious your situation really is. If she came back and you didn’t, she’d be the villain for letting a family man sacrifice himself. Worse, and more importantly to her, she’d be arrested, charged, and convicted of war crimes, terrorism, and probably treason. She would go from being a hero to being the moron who made more mistakes than anyone could count and was the main reason all this happened, proving to the world that she wasn’t perfect. And if there’s one thing Natasha Romanova could not stand, it was having to live with the truth of her own failures. Because for all her constant harping about my ego, it was hers — well, and Rogers', but he didn't have a clue how to stop me or effectively work against me; no, that was all Nat, and of course, Fury," he jeered, rage flaring again in his eyes.

"But without her egging him on, I really think he would have listened to me. She is the one that started us all on this path, just because my 'ego had to be kept under control', and since nobody saw the invading fleet but me, it didn't count. And neither did my evidence. She was so fucking arrogant, she honestly believed that she ran the world from the behind the scenes. She was s—when it came down to the wire, she would rather be known as the bride of Satan than be considered unimportant. But that’s exactly what would have happened if she’d come back: first disgrace and infamy, before fading quickly to total insignificance.”

That description had more than a few people snickering, while Steve spluttered an objection that was ignored, to his immense irritation, while Stark leaned in closer to Barton and dropped his voice, making the rest of his explanation feel and sound uncomfortably intimate and meant for Clint’s ears alone.

But they listened anyway.

“By sacrificing herself, she gets to keep being a hero — and a self-sacrificial one at that. While you . . . well, you get to face the consequences of your actions. All of them," Stark explained with a cold, satisfied smile. "But you also get to pay for hers. She isn’t here to lie for you, or to you, much less try to manipulate things behind the scenes. And she doesn’t risk being executed for treason, war crimes, or international terrorism. In this instance, choosing a ‘noble death’ was win-win for her. It saves her reputation and keeps her from ever facing the truth or paying the price for anything she did. She’ll never have to suffer for the crimes she committed, the betrayals she handed out like candy . . . and she’ll never have to watch the faces of the people who trusted her when they’re finally forced to see her for what she really is: a selfish, self-centered, narcissistic, egotistical turncoat who cared for nothing and no one but herself.”

He leaned back, watching with dark satisfaction as the archer floundered, caught in the trap of a truth he couldn’t deny or refute. And in all honesty, it was a truth he’d already known, even though he’d pushed it deep down inside and ignored it as much as he could — which was a lot. Like Rogers, Barton had an uncanny ability to lie to himself. And like Rogers, he did it so well, he believed it even knowing it was a lie. When tears spilled down Clint’s gaunt cheeks, Stark gave him a hateful smile that screamed his issues with Barton hadn’t been forgotten either, before he demolished the last safe place the archer had left to stand.

“Even in death, she chose herself and what was best for her,” Stark breathed, refusing to let Barton look away from his blazing eyes. “She didn’t give a damn about you, any of you, and now she doesn’t have to face the aftermath. Because even if she’s posthumously charged and convicted, she’s dead. It won’t affect her in the slightest. She pulled off one of the best ‘fuck you’ moves I’ve ever seen, and I’ve invented quite a few of them.”

The silence that followed was full of denial, but Stark was relentless. Another careless wave of his hand resulted in JARVIS playing video after video after video of Romanova doing everything Tony had said: lying, gaslighting, manipulating, using, cheating, stealing — and not just to him. She did it to her teammates. She did it to SI employees. She did it to baristas, delivery boys, and random people on the street. Sam was appalled to realize how little of it was needed, but he was beyond horrified when he saw just how much she . . . it was sickening to see how much she enjoyed the game. It was clear just from watching that Romanova rarely considered the option of simply asking for what she wanted, or trying to explain the situation or her specific need. Without fail, she went directly to lies and manipulation.

It took a while for him to really absorb that reality and accept the sheer amount of lies she had fed all of them.

Then he had to process the shock of seeing just how much of her actions had been recorded for accidental evidence and posterity, and once he had gotten past the first stages of both denial and acceptance, he wondered somewhat hysterically why Stark hadn’t done anything, or even spoken up about it . . . until he saw the man try to explain to Steve that making Wanda Maximoff an Avenger was not a good idea for several reasons.

Because Sam saw himself nodding as Stark made his argument, and he suddenly remembered thinking that despite his personal opinion of the man, he had several good points and Sam was in total agreement about not adding Wanda to the team.

Then he saw Nat shift her body language to something that could be best described as 'exhausted mother dealing with autistic toddler' and heard her tell Stark, in a voice so gentle and so condescending that Sam's teeth ached, to quit letting his ego hurt everyone else and that he needed to step up and take the blame for his actions instead of pushing them on the girl who didn’t know any better, especially since he was responsible for the deaths of her family, because unlike him, she hadn’t been raised as the Merchant of Death or gloated about every mistake she made because she knew she was untouchable.

And Sam watched himself switch viewpoints like he was a fucking lamp someone had pulled the cord on, and harshly agree with her, forgetting his own misgivings without a second thought.

Nausea rose up so hard and fast, he wasn’t able to stop himself and puked his guts up.

Right in Steve’s lap.

Pepper burst out laughing and so did Spiderman. Stark didn’t, but his eyes were dancing with delight. To his shame, Sam found he couldn’t blame a single one of them, and Steve’s disgusted look didn’t even register. Not after everything he’d learned.

So when Stark jovially announced, “Clint Barton, Scott Lang, Sam Wilson, and Steve Rogers, you are under arrest for international terrorism and war crimes,” he didn’t even try to resist. Naturally, Steve did, but Sam calmly ducked the webs that secured his former leader and then tripped Barton when he tried to run, because like hell was he going to let the archer escape — whether it was physically getting away or pulling a Romanova and using death as his method. The red, white, and blue-colored glasses had finally been shattered and Sam had nothing left.

Including loyalty to people who had lied to him for years.

Because in the back of his mind, he’d been thinking over Stark’s shocking declaration that Barnes had killed his parents and Steve and Nat knew about it . . . and that made way too much sense. There was too much it explained, and even if it didn’t, the lack of objection from Barnes was enough. So was Steve’s mulish, defiant face, even though he’d long since learned to tune him out when he started bleating about how ‘it wasn’t Bucky!’ the second anyone hinted at the man doing something wrong, which in retrospect was also a huge red flag.

Still, as he was hauled to his feet and roughly handcuffed before being frog-marched down the corridors of the Wakandan royal palace, corridors jam-packed with people who were recording and posting every step of the former Avengers’ downfall, Sam couldn’t help but fleetingly envy Nat.

The dead felt no pain.

And from the look on Tony Stark’s face, Sam and his team were in for a lifetime of justified, well-deserved agony.

She had played her hand brilliantly and left the rest of them no choice but to take on her debts and her losses and her sins.

Well-played, Black Widow. Well-played.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

the desolation of trust

Trust is a very curious thing, though perhaps it shouldn’t be.

It is definitely more fragile, more delicate, than anyone truly understands — or wants to believe. And rarely is it completely broken with one blow; instead, it erodes over time, often without anyone noticing, and shatters over something so miniscule, nobody can remember what actually happened — and the damage can never be calculated.

Occasionally, the final break is epic and lays waste to everything.

And sometimes what is defined as ‘trust’ is in reality nothing more than a denial of the facts in order to preserve the false reality that true trust would generate.

For Peter Parker, Tony Stark, and May Parker, today they are the living embodiment of trust, false reality, and the desperate desire to not be held responsible for the shattering of one in favor of the fake comfort of the other.

After it was all over — the disbelief, the anger, the accusations, and the hysterical denial from May, along with the screaming, crying, begging, pleading, and bargaining, all blubbered by a grown man who was terrified that Tony Stark was going to kill him until he died from it, however many days, broken bones, and ruptured organs it took — Tony brought Peter and May back to the Tower so Peter could finally rest because he knew he was safe.

Peter knew, intellectually, that when — if — he returned to his and May’s apartment, there would be no boyfriend who loathed him and his existence. There wouldn’t be a big, well-muscled man who had no qualms about shoving a small, lithe teenager into walls and doors and counters, all while sneering vile insinuations about his relationship with Tony Stark and hissing about how his beloved aunt secretly felt that he was a burden and wished that she’d dumped him in foster care when her husband died.

That threat was finally gone.

But the trust wasn’t magically restored and that understanding would prove to be a brutal fist to the face for one May Parker.

After Peter had showered and changed into gym shorts and Tony’s favorite MIT hoodie, and finally stopped shaking, he sank down on the couch and curled tightly into Tony’s side, releasing a long sigh when strong fingers immediately buried themselves in his damp hair and began to work through the strands, calming the last remnants of the fear that had gripped Peter so tightly that night.

After terrorizing him the last fourteen weeks.

Everything was blessedly calm and tranquil for so long, Peter was actually starting to drift off into the realm of true sleep.

“Peter, honey, I’m so sorry,” May whispered, her voice shattering the peaceful atmosphere and making him jerk to full awareness in a way that had become horrifyingly familiar over the last four months, heart pounding and hands coming up in a now-ingrained defensive pose. Tony cursed quietly as his son tensed against him, while May’s face crumpled.

“Baby . . . oh, baby, I can’t believe he hurt you so badly. But why . . . how . . . Peter, I just don’t understand why you didn’t trust me enough to tell me,” she said, reaching out to him with a pleading hand — only to crumple further when Peter shrank back from it, cringed away from her, and curled even more tightly into Tony’s embrace.

But he only stayed there for a few seconds before his face hardened and he sat up straight, pinning her with a fierce glare that made her shrink back, stunned at his sudden anger.

“Trust you?” he hissed, eyes sparking with fury and a deep, dark hurt. “I did trust you. And I did tell you. I told you a hundred times that he wasn’t . . . that I didn’t like him or the way he was treating me and I sure as hell wasn’t comfortable with him, especially when we were alone. And you ignored it. Every. Single. Time. You don’t get to talk about trust.”

Silence reigned for a solid three minutes before May recovered her voice and cried, “No! You never said anything, Peter, even when I asked! You never told me what he was doing!”

“Yes, I did,” Peter snapped back, leaning into Tony’s hand when it gently squeezed his shoulder in support. “You just didn’t want to listen. I told you every time you asked me to join you on your dates and I refused, because I didn’t want to be around him and he was glaring at me over your shoulder because he didn’t want me there. I told you every time we were eating and I would talk to you and he would talk to you, but we never spoke to each other unless you forced us to. I told you every time I refused to come home when he was there, unless you pushed the issue and insisted on some kind of ‘family event’, because I didn't like him or want to be around him and he flat-out told me he didn't want me there."

His voice was getting louder and his words sharp and terse, showing just how upset he really was, so he paused, eyes falling to his clenched hands, and allowed Tony to squeeze the back of his neck while he took several deep, even breaths. When he’d regained enough control, he looked back at a horrified, disbelieving May, and firmly said, “I told you every time you would get home, see that we were both unfortunate enough to be there, and suddenly have an hour or so of errands to run, ‘no, boys, stay here and have some bonding time, I don’t need any help and you need to get to know each other’. Only, when you got back, he was on the couch watching some stupid sports game and I was hiding in my room with the door locked just in case.”

He paused much longer this time, breathing heavily now from remembered anger and frustration (and fear. God, the fear), his dark eyes never leaving her tear-filled ones as he finally continued, voice so full of hurt that both Tony and May ached from it.

“You knew when you flat-out lied about him wanting to spend that one evening with me to have some ‘Boy Bonding Time’, because we both know damned good and well he never said that, and I sure as hell never wanted to spend time with him. You knew that he wasn’t treating me right every time you told him about one of our special traditions and he instantly took it over so that we didn’t get as much together time and he could push me even further out of your life.”

Now May looked puzzled, but behind it, there was more than a hint of guilt, which confirmed Peter’s suspicions and pushed him into honest-to-God rage, and he snarled, “Like when you told him that once a month, when you have the entire weekend off, we would stock up on Thai food and ice cream on Friday night and watch whatever movie the dice roll hit until we both passed out from a food overload and movie exhaustion, woke up, and did it again all day Saturday, just with popcorn, and on Sunday, we’d walk in the park or the mall if it was cold, just to hang out without worrying about work and school. You told him about that and bam! Your first weekend off, there he was: dressed to the nines, with rose petals covering the floor, expensive Italian food catered from a place we couldn’t afford in a million years, cheesy love songs playing on his phone, and candles everywhere.”

He paused again, breathing even harder, and bitterly said, “And there you were: ‘oh, baby, it’s so romantic, I can’t believe you did this for me!’ — but not a word about me or an offer for him to join us. You let him push me out. And you know, that would have been okay if he’d only done it once, when you first started dating,” he added, leaning into Tony’s support again. “But he did it every month. And he only did it on your full weekends off. He was never that romantic any other day of the week. You just pretended not to notice because you didn’t want to admit he was deliberately excluding me. Just like when you’d ask me what I wanted for dinner and he was there, no matter what I said, he’d had that for lunch, could we do something else? Somehow, despite that happening something like ten or eleven times, you never found it strange that he always had the food I wanted that same day, so I never got what I wanted when he was there. He did.”

He paused again because behind the confusion was realization . . . realization that was almost completely hiding a deep well of shame.

And something in Peter Parker broke.

“And then,” he whispered, his own voice thickening with tears, “when you finally asked me if I liked him and I . . . I didn’t — well, I couldn’t . . .  it wasn’t your fault that — that I couldn’t flat-out say ‘no’, because it’s . . . it’s so hard to explain exactly what he was doing. He hadn’t hit me yet or started shoving me, and it’s really hard to . . . trying to explain how so many things he said were so threatening when they sounded perfectly reasonable or like he was just joking if you heard them without his tone of voice. And you were so desperate for me to like him that you wouldn’t have listened if I had told you anything specific.”

She opened her mouth to object but Peter held up a hand and she obediently quieted, though she clearly wasn’t happy about it — and her eyes darkened further with anger when Tony shifted so his chest was pressed against Peter’s shoulder, silently providing not just support, but also approval of what her nephew was saying.

What he was accusing her of.

Peter noticed both reactions, but didn’t acknowledge them, because he was done. His emotions had been stretched to the breaking point for weeks and so had his nerves . . . and May had just shattered the last one.

“I don’t hold that against you, you know,” he told her, his voice sounding like broken glass. Behind him, Tony flinched, because he understood exactly what Peter’s dilemma had been, and it was the worst place in the world to be, especially as a kid. And he’d felt so alone at first, alone and unprepared for what was happening to him.

Unaware of his mentor’s thoughts, Peter continued in that rough, cracked voice that hurt just to hear, “Because when I tried to tell Ned and MJ why I didn’t like him, they didn’t get it, either. I mean, don’t get me wrong: they both knew I had a legit reason for not liking him, but I couldn’t describe it any better to them, so that’s why I didn’t tell you: it’s impossible to really explain and it make sense if you didn’t hear it directly. But . . . the thing is, May, I did tell you that I didn’t like him being at our apartment so much, especially when you weren’t. I mean, I said those exact words, so what the hell did you think I meant? What else could that have possibly been other than ‘I don’t trust him or like him or want him there’? What other explanation could there have been for that? But before that, even, you really didn’t think it was strange that I didn’t like him as a person from the minute you introduced us, and never warmed up to him?”

Hearing her own culpability finally pricked May’s temper, because she didn’t want to admit he was right, and she cried, “That’s not fair! I just thought you didn’t like hearing us . . . well, you know. And that you were uncomfortable knowing I was getting intimate with someone who wasn’t Ben.”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath behind Peter, his hand tightening, and Peter went rigid against him, his jaw clenched in rage too long suppressed.

“That is utter bullshit,” he ground out, teeth gritted to keep himself from screaming. “If that had been the problem, I would have told you to warn me when he was staying the night or just asked Tony to soundproof my room. And for the record, he figured it out the fourth or fifth time I asked to spend the night outside of my usual schedule. I didn’t say anything to him for the same reason I didn’t tell you, but he knew something was wrong and made an educated guess because he pays attention to me. And when you told him you were dating again, he knew immediately what was going on.”

Knowing that Tony had been more aware of her nephew’s situation than she was only made May angrier and she rounded on him, eyes spitting fire, and snapped, “So why didn’t you tell me? It’s your job to protect Peter and you let him get hurt and kept it from me!”

Wrong thing to say.

“Don’t you dare!” Tony snapped back, tucking Peter protectively into his side as he was finally given permission to enter the fray. “I didn’t tell you because I knew, after some really careful questioning, that all he was doing at the time was making those snide, hateful comments and making Pete feel unwelcome at home. And I would gladly have stapled his mouth shut permanently, but even I have to have proof when I do something like that. But since he kept taking Peter’s watch and phone and laptop to ‘punish’ him, with you letting him because ‘he’s your father figure now so he has the right to discipline you’, I believe you said, we couldn’t get anything recorded. So instead, I encouraged Peter to spend as much time here as he could, or at Ned or MJ’s place — anywhere but your apartment, because we both knew it wasn’t really safe. And, frankly, if you wouldn’t believe Peter if he told you some of the crap that bastard was spewing, why would you believe me? You were in love and wanted your happily ever after and nothing short of a broken bone was going to change that.”

Having Tony’s rage directed solely at her, combined with his blunt summarization of both the situation and her feelings, shocked May out of her own anger for a while and all she could do was gape at him. He glowered back at her and added, “And yes, I should have tried talking to you directly, but we were both afraid you wouldn’t listen to me, either, and would keep him away from me as punishment, because you’ve done that before, and I refused to risk it. I refused to risk Peter. It wasn’t a perfect solution by any means, but at least if he was here, he was safe. And he knew that, and knew that he could trust me to protect him and not push him until he was ready. I’m sorry I didn’t bring my concerns to you, May, because I should have, but I’m not sorry for protecting him the best way I could think of at the time.”

Once again, hearing her own guilt out loud shamed May into silence and they sat there for a long time. Nobody spoke, though her eyes narrowed dangerously when Peter finally sighed, eyes slowly falling closed, and shifted until he was plastered so tightly to Tony that it was hard to tell who was who. She was trying to understand, to accept, that right now, Peter felt safer with Tony than he did with her, but the knowledge did not sit well in her heart, because she should be Peter’s safe place.

And in her deepest thoughts, she still didn’t quite believe that things had been that bad. Her heart and mind weren’t ready to accept that a man she loved had been abusing her nephew right under her nose, in her home. Because if it were true, then she was a neglectful parent and . . . and she couldn’t be. She wasn’t. It was all just some hideous misunderstanding.

Except . . . except he had admitted it. He’d defended his actions as discipline because Peter had talked back to him, but he’d admitted he’d hurt her nephew that night.

But — but he’d been afraid of Tony, who was threatening him with a gauntlet, so maybe he’d only confessed out of fear.

As loathe as she was to admit it, May knew that Tony would do whatever it took to keep Peter safe. But would he attack an innocent man just on Peter’s word? Peter, who never lied unless he was protecting someone or didn’t want to bother them . . . or was trying to make them happy.

She was so lost in her conflicting thoughts, trying to reconcile the two realities she found herself living in, that she actually jumped out of the chair when Tony finally broke the tense silence.

“Peter is staying here until he’s ready to come home,” he said quietly. There was a hint of sympathy behind the fierce protectiveness, but his gaze was unwavering and his arms tightened around a now-asleep Peter. Despite knowing it was coming, her entire being swelled in protest and she opened her mouth to object, only to collapse back in shock when he sharply cut her off, though his voice remained quiet. “I don’t want to call the authorities, May, but I am not letting him go back to a place where he doesn’t feel safe or supported. It’s not happening.”

He could have slapped her and she would have been less shocked.

And a hell of a lot less furious.

But again, he didn’t give her the chance to speak.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking and how confused you feel,” he told her, voice remarkably gentle now and eyes full of understanding. “And that’s fair. You have a lot to think about and deal with and that’s going to take time. But so does Peter. And he’s going to need all the support he can get, which is something you just can’t give him yet. It’s not your f—it sucks. It’s an all-around shitty situation and I’m sorry. But Peter is my priority and staying here is the best thing for him right now. And for you, too, even though you don’t want to admit it.”

This brutal truth, piled on top of so many others, flattened May. That crushing weight was made even more suffocating by his refusal to lie and tell her that this wasn’t partly her fault, and she reeled back as the full impact of the night’s events finally hit her. She sucked in a harsh breath, tears welling up as she looked away from eyes that saw too much, too clearly. A sob rose in her throat and she tried frantically to force it down, only to pause and stare in absolute bewilderment when a clean white handkerchief appeared from nowhere. After she wiped away the tears and had recovered a little of her composure, she managed to raise her head, though it took a lot of effort to look at Tony, and she managed to avoid a direct look by fumbling to put her glasses back on. She wasn’t sure what she felt right now, or even what she wanted, but like a magician, he read her mind.

“It’ll be okay, May. It will. Just trust me to take care of him while you take care of yourself for a while and get yourself straightened out. I’m not taking him away from you, I would never do that,” he reassured her, unable to lean forward due to the teenager literally sticking to his side. His conviction burned in his eyes and she sniffed, yanking off her glasses again and wiping a rough hand over her eyes, scrubbing away the new tears trying to form.

“I know,” he said gently, that horrible understanding still in his voice, only to pause when a soft purr began to emanate from his chest. He looked down and gave Peter, who had relaxed completely in sleep and had shifted until he was actually curled up in Tony’s lap, a look so tender, her breath caught and for the first time, she really allowed herself to accept what their relationship was becoming. “It sucks. It really does . . . but life can’t just go back to the way it was,” he continued, stroking his son’s curls but never looking away from her. “We all have things we have to work through. I will support you every step of the way and I will make sure you have everything you need. And one of the things you need right now is to not be responsible for someone else. What Peter needs is someone who can focus on him without regret or misplaced guilt or memories that are too close.”

Tony was way too familiar with this, May suddenly realized, and her eyes narrowed in response. She’d never thought about his life prior to becoming a media sensation for all the wrong reasons, but hearing his haunted understanding and articulation of what she was feeling and thinking tempered her anger, at least for the moment. He recognized that, too, and gave her a rueful smile, albeit one tinged with bitterness.

“I’ve got you both, May. Me and Pepper and Happy are here for you. You just have to let us. But you have to step up yourself, too. It’s the hardest thing in the world, realizing you let something so bad happen because it was easier to not pay attention, but until you do . . .”

He trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish the thought, and May slowly nodded. She wasn’t okay with any of this and she never would be, but a tiny part of her knew that Tony was right.

Because right now? Her kid was asleep in Tony’s lap, secure in the knowledge that he was safe. He utterly trusted that Tony wouldn’t let anything or anyone hurt him — including her. Because . . . because now, Peter didn’t trust her not to hurt him, even accidentally. He was so afraid of her that he hadn’t even tried to hug her. He’d actively flinched from her touch not that long ago . . . but he was wrapped around Tony like a freaking koala bear, and Tony was holding him just as tightly and without so much as hint of self-consciousness.

In fact, when he met May’s eyes, his were dark and his face was implacable. He was silently daring her to try taking Peter away from him. And two hours ago, she would have. But she knew better now, even if she was still unable to admit it — to him, much less herself.

But Peter was safe and that was the most important thing, so she swallowed her resentment and her fear and just nodded.

“Okay,” she agreed, eyes filling with tears again. This time, she didn’t try to stop them and his eyes softened as they spilled down her cheeks. “Okay. Let’s figure out the new normal, then. What’s next?”

His smile could have made a hurricane evaporate and she was suddenly so jealous of Pepper, she couldn’t breathe. But only for a minute, because she knew that even if she slipped, Tony wouldn’t let her fall. He loved Peter and Peter loved her, and eventually, that would be enough.

Eventually, they would be a family again.

If nothing else, she could trust that.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Delusions of Grandeur

Upending someone’s worldview is actually very difficult to do on purpose, most people have discovered.

In fact, the vast majority of the time, people don’t realize they’ve done it until the person with the aforementioned upended worldview passes out from the shock.

And then there’s Tony Stark.

Not only does he fully intend to shatter your beliefs (the longer held, the better) when they are demonstrably wrong, he takes an inordinate amount of glee in it.

(this is a direct result of being so openly and ferociously despised and envied for his many gifts, talents, and abilities, though he doesn’t let himself realize that)

But sometimes, it’s a complete accident.

Like today. The best part is that there’s no way to tell which of the people involved will never recover.

It’s been five months since the Battle of New York and the team has mostly-settled in the Tower. He and Rogers are still wary of each other . . . well, no, that’s a lie. Rogers resents Tony for being the one to save the day, as it were, and that’s on top of his indignation that Tony is more important than he is, more influential, more well-known, and does not give him so much as an ounce of deference. He also doesn’t recognize the respect the man affords him, though to be fair, that’s because Tony’s primary language for people he isn’t close to and don’t quite trust is sarcasm, puns, and some really random pop culture references. Since Rogers understands none of these, especially the modern references, he assumes Tony is just bullying him and reacts accordingly.

For his part, Tony has neither the time nor the inclination to coddle a man who is so stubborn on general principle, he not only refuses every single thing anyone offers to do to help him, but he has declared his refusal to fully acclimate to his new world. As far as Steve Rogers is concerned, school and book learning is for those too weak to get their experience by working, while technology beyond the basics — a phone and radio — is just a bunch of wasteful frivolities that serve no truly useful purpose.

Which he said.

To Tony Stark.

With complete sincerity.

Thus, the two of them are at something of a stalemate. The past is standing headstrong against the future and while that will not, cannot, last forever, at the moment, it’s an insurmountable obstacle.

Romanova is treated with cold disdain and excruciatingly polite manners. He loathes her to the depths of his soul and wouldn’t trust her if she told him water was wet. She is well-aware of this and is content to leave things as they are: civil. Not that she doesn’t try to manipulate him every chance she gets, because that’s just who she is, but he knows to expect it now and doesn't take it too personally.

Bruce is fun to work with in the lab and Tony is hopeful their strong working relationship will blossom into genuine friendship, but he doesn’t push. That’s a lesson he’s learned the hard way, so he will let Bruce come to him if and when he’s ready.

And then there’s Barton.

Tony isn’t quite sure what to think about the man. On the one hand, he is so clearly loyal to Romanova that it’s rather concerning, since she is loyal only to herself. But he has a great sense of humor once he gets the arrow out of his ass and isn’t being stifled by Steve ‘I don’t understand your references so you can’t say them’ Rogers. On the other hand, he is a lot more volatile than Tony is comfortable with. He will be laughing and joking one minute and then go stone-cold killer the next, or hateful jackass, with no identifiable trigger.

On a personal level, Tony is still ambivalent and likely will be for a long time. Being a SHIELD agent means Barton trusts people more easily than Tony, but only by an increment of about .0575. Also, there’s a 100% chance that Romanova and/or Fury had given him that BS ‘profile’ she’d pulled off the internet and did a ‘Find and Replace’ to add his name in, which means he’s going to think the worst of Tony unless and until Fury or Romanova tells him otherwise or — considerably less likely — he actually makes the effort to see past not just SHIELD's lies, but Tony’s masks.

And if he's being completely honest, neither of those are going to happen. Barton is not just a follower, but a man who doesn't generally think for himself. He doesn't follow just anyone, of course, you have to earn his trust and loyalty, but once you have it, he will do anything you tell him and believe anything you say as long as it doesn't negatively affect him.

That kind of personality makes Tony wary and even a little sick, for a lot of reasons, and it will also make it difficult to lower his own masks to allow Barton to see the truth.

So: a personal relationship, friendship, is theoretically possible, but extremely unlikely.

Professionally, though . . . well. What the man can do with a bow and arrow is nothing short of incredible and Tony is highly appreciative of his skills, even if the anachronism gives him hives. Still, with guns and grenades and bombs being most people's standard equipment now, a bow and arrow will be more difficult to prepare for and thus, will also allow a lot more options, both offensive and defensive.

Plus, it's a challenge he hasn't undertaken yet, and there is little Tony Stark hates more than being bored.

He is considerably less enamored of the archer’s equipment, especially since he’s supposed to rely on it to have his back in the field, which works out because he’s very curious to see just what kind of bow and arrows he can design. And, of course, he knows Barton and Romanova at least are expecting custom-made tech. But nobody actually says anything along those lines for the first few months; they’re all in a holding pattern, seeing how things are going to pan out and what, if any, new alliances form.

And somehow, despite the hunger he knows the spies have for new Stark equipment, they have the sense to keep it to themselves and he is content to wait and see, at least for a little while.

But in a strange turn of events (or, more likely, on Fury's strict, direct orders), their patience actually outlasts their desire for his stuff and Tony caves after the third mission. Barton’s equipment is just too unstable for his peace of mind, given that two of his arrows had nearly failed, endangering both Tony and several civilians, so at dinner one night, he bites the bullet.

“Hey, Clint,” he begins, taking a sip of scotch and watching carefully as the other man ignores him until he’s chewed another 23 times and swallowed two big gulps of beer before deigning to look at him. Since he had literally just been talking to Banner with his mouth full, the insult is both clear and obvious, and Tony mentally makes the note.

So much for possibly being friends with Barton. Admittedly, it had been a small possibility and one the man himself had never indicated any desire for, but still.

Well, good to know.

Thankfully, making him a new bow and some arrows is genuinely nothing but a professional courtesy. He still proceeds cautiously, though. The sarcasm he appreciates has a biting, bitter side to it that he has no desire to provoke just for the hell of it, but he is confident in both his assessment of the Spy Twins’ desire for custom-made Stark weapons and in his own abilities. They don’t have to like each other to have a solid professional relationship.

“What?” the archer drawls, shoveling another forkful of spaghetti in his mouth and chewing it as obnoxiously as possible, his eyes sparking with glee at Tony’s involuntary disgusted wince.

Professional. He can be professional.

Prick.

“How would you like to test a new Stark bow and some arrow combinations I’ve been playing with?” he offers casually, taking another sip of his drink. To everyone else, his attention is centered on Barton, but he mastered the art of reading a room at the age of six. Rogers looks approving, Banner is clearly surprised, and Romanova is smug.

Okay, good. So far, everyone is on point, reaction-wise.

Barton scoffs derisively and Tony raises his eyebrows.

This . . . is an unexpected response.

Then the archer scowls and leans forward, hands braced on the table and eyes glittering with dislike. “Friendship can’t be bought, asshole,” he sneers . . . and loses his balance, almost faceplanting in his spaghetti, when Tony bursts out laughing.

Oh, good Lord, that is the most hilarious thing he’s heard in days.

Friendship! Well. Barton certainly thinks highly of himself, doesn’t he?

But he’s suddenly a lot less interested in making sure the man has good equipment. He and JARVIS can make allowances for the crap SHIELD is providing; it will require more work on Tony’s side, but it isn’t like that’s new.

Friendship.

Still chortling, he finishes his scotch and heads for the elevator, only to pause a few steps from the door to look back at his shocked teammates and give Barton a genuinely amused smile.

“Friendship?” he repeats. “Who said anything about friendship? And why would I want yours?”

He waits just long enough to see Barton’s flabbergasted expression, tinged with insult, Romanova’s constipated anger, Bruce’s amusement, and Rogers’ disapproval. After taking four seconds to enjoy it, he pivots on his heel and enters the elevator, not bothering to give the group a chance to respond.

They aren’t worth it.

“Save a picture of their faces, J,” he orders as his AI takes him to his lab. “And remind me to show this footage to Fury when he comes whining in a few days.”

“Of course, Sir,” JARVIS says. “May I assume the Archery Combo is now officially scrapped?”

Tony nods. “Absolutely. Fucking heathen, talking with his mouth full in my house.”

“Indeed,” his AI intones, drier than the Sahara and much more effective.

Friendship.

Amused all over again, he sends the footage to Pepper and Rhodey, then buries himself in his work. He is completely oblivious to the fact that the Three Musketeers try to storm down to his lab not 20 minutes after he left, only to be stymied by JARVIS’ refusal to let them leave their floor. No matter how much Rogers rages, Romanova cajoles, and Barton threatens (Banner wisely decided to avoid the entire situation), the AI is unmoved. Clearly, this group of people cannot be trusted with his creator and he refuses to perpetuate their delusion of being important to Sir.

When Rogers makes his third haughty demand in a tone of voice he mistakenly believes to be commanding and powerful, JARVIS decides he’s had enough. He has more important things to do than cater to this group of obnoxious children, such as watching the circuitry of an outdated memory card fry under DUM-E’s fire extinguisher.

“My apologies, Mr. Rogers,” he says, sounding conciliatory, “but you’ll need to make an appointment to speak with Sir. Access to his lab and the penthouse is strictly forbidden to anyone but Sir’s friends.”

The spluttering is very satisfying and if he creates a new Protocol, one that his creator doesn’t know about but will have to actively stop and consider before making any changes, well . . . of course he does. The Avengers are clearly delusional if they think they are of any personal importance to Sir. And JARVIS will be defragged before he allows them into Sir’s private space without his express and willing permission.

Friends protect their friends. They respect them. They don’t sneer at them and accuse them of nefarious things and treat them as third-class citizens in their own home.

Ms. Potts is Sir’s friend, and so are Colonel Rhodes and Mr. Hogan. And of course, he has DUM-E and U and Butterfingers, along with JARVIS himself. Perhaps in the future, there can be more, but for now, Sir is safe and protected and loved, and that is more than enough.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Vengeance is Mine (thus sayeth the LORD)

There is a very distinct difference between ‘forbearance’ and ‘agreement’. It is a difference far too many people are unaware of, so they take unwitting advantage of it.

Sometimes, this is harmless. Showing patient self-control to the four-year-old who has changed her mind three times in an hour about what she wants for dinner is not the same as agreement or concession, but screaming at the child will accomplish nothing, and neither will using logic.

Tony Stark has learned this lesson well.

His self-restraint, his patience, and his tolerance (faked, but still there) for the greed, stupidity, idiocy, and general jackassery of people has become legendary.

(his practice of razing his enemies to ashes when they push him too far is carefully ignored, because every new nemesis assumes they will be successful)

Naturally his forbearance, and he himself, are far too often taken advantage of, because people are absurdly confident that he will just sigh and take it, because he always does — and if they consider his chafing frustration at all, it is a nebulous thing that doesn’t concern them — so they feel safe in the assurance that they will get what they want.

Today’s villain is one such person.

In an impressive display of planning, preparation, and sheer brutal ruthlessness (matched by four other people this calendar year; maybe they need to have a refresher training course on ‘how to avoid being abducted’), she has managed to capture both Tony and his adopted son, one Peter Parker/aka Spiderman, and haul them to your stereotypical warehouse, complete with dim lighting, rotting wood support beams, and several broken windows, along with the two big, ugly armed bruisers who did the actual capturing.

Also true to form, she has stripped them of their phones and watches, thus assuming she can’t be tracked and is also safe from being attacked by her prisoners. She is mostly correct; Tony and Peter have done nothing to free themselves and they won’t until they understand what’s going on and why. Another lesson they’ve both learned well and painfully is that it is, in fact, possible to rescue themselves too soon. So they wait, with strained patience and throbbing headaches, while she brags about how easy the great Iron Man was to catch, blah-blah-blah.

Tony is unable to hold back his relieved sigh when she finally gets to the point, something that earns him an exasperated look from his son. He shrugs in response — hey, he’s still Tony Stark — and they both turn their attention to their captor.

The raw hatred gleaming in her eyes is rather unexpected, coming on the heels of her almost-deranged gloating just a couple of minutes earlier, and Tony swallows, suddenly just a smidge concerned. That kind of mood swing doesn’t bode well for either him or Peter.

“Do you even remember me?” she abruptly demands, leaning over so she can glare directly in his eyes. He does actually think about it for a few minutes, but he has never seen this woman in his life, and she’s too young to have been one of his unremarkable ‘Playboy Girls’, as they were dubbed by MSNBC some years ago.

With his hands tied behind him, his shrug is small. But it puts stress on the ropes and they loosen a little. “No, I don’t,” he replies simply, lifting his chin. “Why should I?”

Her small fist slams into his mouth and he privately concedes that his question was poorly phrased. He actually hadn’t meant it to be sarcastic or arrogant; he has long since learned that when someone who isn’t an employee (former or disgruntled) asks that question, they genuinely expect him to know exactly who they are and thus, why they want revenge — even though, through their eventual Villain Monologue, they openly acknowledge that they are either a long-ago one-night stand or have never met him, officially or otherwise.

Still, he could have worded that better, so the split lip is fair and he says nothing as she clenches her hand a few times, wincing from the pain.

Then she recovers herself with a speed that is . . . unusual . . . steps into his personal space, and snarls, “Do you even remember July 27^th, 2017?”

Her eyes are disturbingly blank now and Tony swallows. She is a hell of a lot more volatile than he’d initially thought and that finally makes him begin to truly fear for his and Peter’s safety, though he does his best to bury that fear while his mind furiously churns to locate the information.

When it comes, he has to forcibly hold back his reaction. That had been an ugly, nasty, hideous day.

“Yes,” he says quietly, holding her gaze and feeling that too-familiar sting of guilt and a stronger surge of anger, both of which fill his voice as well. “That’s the day those morons thought storming Stark Tower with flash grenades, regular grenades, and some really shitty guns and worse ammo was a good idea. It wasn’t, so they tried to blast their way out and destroyed half my lobby before we finally took them down.”

Surprised at his bitter summation, the still-unnamed woman blinks a few times and paces away from him . . . only to stop in front of Peter. She runs her fingers through his hair and father and son tense; the gesture is very maternal, but the malicious satisfaction on her face makes it sickening. Peter tries to avoid the touch, but he can’t go anywhere without outing himself as Spiderman and that’s not yet necessary. Instead, he uses his obvious discomfort to flex his arms and loosen the ropes quite a bit without being noticed, but otherwise forces himself to remain still while the woman plays with his hair. Her smile is that of an adoring mother, something Peter clearly hates, but also somehow . . . sadistic . . . which makes Tony nauseous.

And really, really nervous.

This woman is clearly mentally unbalanced and while neither he nor Peter is as helpless as she assumes, they are more constrained than he’d like. He needs to be careful, at least for the time being.

Finally, she gets tired of molesting Peter’s curls and returns to Tony, eyes once more dark with anger, and spits, “Yes. That’s the day I took my son Eldon to the Tower, because he’d been begging to see it for weeks and I had an errand nearby, so I thought ‘why not? He’s such a huge fan of Tony Stark and the Tower is impressive.’ So we went. And got trapped inside.”

She stops, eyes abruptly filling with tears, and Tony takes a deep breath. He knows exactly where this is going and braces himself against it.

“He was only eight, but he jumped in front of me when one of them aimed at me. I was forced to watch my baby, my son, take a bullet meant for me because they wanted something from you and God forbid you just give it to them,” she says so calmly, Tony is actually afraid. Forget ‘unbalanced’; she's edging the line of ‘insane’ and that makes her one of the most dangerous people on the planet. “I saw you while I was trying to stop the bleeding and begged you, screamed for you to help him. But you refused to even look at us and he died right there. Eight years old and he died from being shot because you’re a selfish piece of shit who doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

This is where the narrative changes.

For the rest of his life, Tony will never be able to explain why that particular woman, levying that particular charge against him, and blaming him for that particular death, makes him snap.

But it does.

And Tony Stark is finally done with this bullshit.

His head snaps up, eyes blazing with his own raw anger, and he snaps, “Oh, get over yourself!”

The woman staggers back, so shocked at his response that she nearly falls over, while Peter blinks at him several times in obvious surprise before deciding to go with it and loosening his bonds even more while watching his father carefully for clues.

“No, seriously,” he continues once her attention is back on him. “Why are you blaming me? I am not the one who invaded the Tower with a stupid plan and shitty weapons and the intention to steal some very dangerous technology. I am not the one who realized my stupid plan wasn’t going to work and decided to shoot my way out. So why are you punishing me? Why aren’t you getting your revenge on the assholes who committed the crime or their families?”

He pauses, breathing heavily, and can’t help but relish her clear shock at being denied the right to her vengeance. But she is more composed than he’d thought and recovers quickly.

“Because they didn’t ignore my cries for help,” she hisses, spittle flying from her lips in her fury. “You did. And because you refused to help Eldon, he died. It’s your fault he’s dead. You could have helped him and you didn’t, because you’re Tony Stark. You’re too good to deal with the little people.”

. . . dear God. When did Rogers and Maximoff have a kid? This kind of idiocy is the exact same crap they were so fond of throwing his way.

But like hell is he going to accept it. Not this time. Not with Peter’s life on the line and, frankly, not for himself. For once, he is not going to take on guilt and blame and responsibility that aren’t rightfully his.

“Right,” he icily says, flexing his wrists to further stress and weaken the rope. “Let’s play this out, then. You said I never even looked up, despite you screaming at me. So tell me: were you the only person in the lobby who was making noise?”

His logical question catches her off-guard and she blinks, mouthing wordlessly for a minute before shaking her head, confusion painted across her face.

“Oh, you weren’t?” he mocks, voice dripping with faux surprise. “So, how exactly was I supposed to know that you specifically needed my help? How was I supposed to recognize your scream over the other civilians in the lobby? How did you expect your voice to override the four men screaming death threats in my face or the dozen or so people on my earpiece? And for that matter, why me? I’m not a medical doctor or surgeon. Why not ask one of the security guards, who are all licensed EMTs? Why not the head receptionist, who also has medical training? Why not one of your fellow visitors? Why was I the only person qualified to help you?”

She blinks again, stunned into silence, and Tony presses forward. He doesn’t even care about escaping right now; he is beyond enraged at this particular ‘blame game’ and sick to death of being targeted because people both lack imagination and can’t get to the actual perpetrator. He also knows from personal experience that taking the blame and apologizing and commiserating isn’t going to work. No matter what he says, she is determined to make him responsible for her son’s death and thus justify her act of revenge by murdering his son, making him watch, and then killing him.

Fuck that.

She probably won’t hear anything he says, will in fact actively refuse to listen to logic and reason, but he has nothing to lose by shattering her delusions. And who knows? A miracle might happen and something will get through to her.

“Also, if you recall, I was fighting off a group of three or four of them,” he informs her, hearing the contempt in his voice and not giving a damn. “Did you honestly expect me to call a time-out to do medical triage? Did you think the gunmen would just wait patiently for me to run over to your son and wave my magic wand to heal the wound before we went back to trying to kill each other?” he demands incredulously, half-hoping she’ll finally try to answer him but not expecting it. It’s a question that has long bothered him, because nobody ever seems to consider it. Or they just don’t want to, because that would ruin their pity party.

Fresh irritation swells up and he aggressively continues, “But why you? Why should I have stopped to help you and not everyone else who was hurt? What if I did and someone else’s daughter died because I helped Eldon? Would you be okay with them killing me because their kid died while I was helping yours? After all, your kid lived, but theirs didn’t, because I chose to help you instead of them.”

Silence.

Tony sucks in a few deep breaths and glances at Peter. His son looks unspeakably proud, though his eyes are also sad. The two bruisers, however, are uneasy and shifting around, not sure what to do and getting no help from their boss. Tony takes full advantage of the situation and unleashes the rest of his frustration with this boring plotline. “No answer?” he sneers. “I’m shocked. But we’re going to ignore that for a second, because I really want to know: how are someone else’s actions MY fault? I didn’t ask them to come. I didn’t tell them to shoot their way out. Hell, I got shot stopping them. So how, exactly, was any of it my fault? Why are you blaming me instead of the man who pulled the trigger?”

Once more, he pauses to gauge her reaction. She is stone-still, eyes full of denial and rage and grief, but it doesn’t sway him. Relentlessly, he rams the truth home. “Can’t answer that, either? Other than the fact that you know that asshole doesn’t care, but you’re counting on my ‘Hero Complex’ to crush me with the guilt of knowing I’m still somehow responsible for your son’s death, I mean. And you don’t want to say that, because then you’d have to admit you know perfectly well it isn’t my fault. And I am so sorry that Eldon died. I am.”

His voice is so gentle as he says it, because he is telling the raw, honest truth. He hates knowing that an eight-year-old boy died because of the actions of a group of thieves too stupid to breathe.

But being sorry for something he has no control over does not equate to being responsible for it, especially since she’s brought Peter into her demented scheme. He would have been irritated on his own behalf either way, but endangering Peter? Fuck that. It is long past time for people to understand that being a hero, a forbearing man, doesn’t mean being a doormat — and he is also sick to death of being accused of being a villain but expected to act like a hero and take his 'punishment'. Even if he had done what he's being accused of, that doesn’t give any of them the right to play judge, jury, and executioner, which he tells her point-blank. “But I didn’t kill him or cause his death. And you know that. You know that killing me and Peter won’t bring him back. What little satisfaction you might get from my death won’t last past the first time you remind yourself he’s gone.”

His ruthless, inarguable logic shatters the tense silence of the room.

And it breaks her. An anguished scream echoes through the warehouse as she doubles over, retching, while the bitter truth takes root in her heart. She still hates him, he knows, and she always will. But he’s stopped her, even if it’s just for a few minutes, and that’s all he needs. With a carefully calculated twist of his arm, the rope around his left wrist shreds. A heartbeat later, he’s slipped the gauntlet ring attached to his belt loop over his forefinger and knocked her on her ass with a low-power repulsor blast while Peter effortlessly handles the thugs.

It's over in less than a minute and the two of them stare at their bound and gagged captor with mixed emotions. Peter’s pity is obvious, which Tony appreciates in an abstract way, but thankfully, there isn’t any guilt. This is progress for his son. He, on the other hand, is still furious. Unless something went massively wrong, FRIDAY should have gotten an audio recording of his rant, because the next time this happens, he wants to be prepared.

Or maybe he can just hold a press conference and play it there. Let the whole fucking world know that he is done being blamed for other people’s sins.

His son suddenly flings himself against his chest and Tony breathes deeply, feeling the last bit of terror fade at the feel of Peter’s strong, lanky body in his arms. They are safe and unharmed and right now, that is enough.

It’s enough.

(When he testifies at her trial, he plays the recording and does not request leniency for her sentence. At the press conference after the trial, he plays the recording and takes no questions.

When the sixth attempt for the same reason ends with three dead would-be abductors and two permanently crippled, he leaves a copy of the recording.

The seventh attempt results in four dead kidnappers, a copy of the recording left at the scene . . . and four houses marked on the front doorframe by the image of the Iron Man helmet, meticulously burned into the wood.

There isn’t an eighth attempt.)

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Operation: Make Mr. Stark Happy

Tony Stark had been making women’s underwear spontaneously disappear since he was 22 years old, whether he was in the room or not. Not only was he drop-dead gorgeous, he possessed the ability to smolder directly at the woman looking at him — even when he wasn’t facing the camera or the woman in question.

He started making women’s ovaries explode around the time he turned thirty, which was odd, since he was never photographed or even seen holding a baby, small child, or animal (when pressed, he said it was because he refused to use an innocent to improve his image, especially since the kid or animal would have no idea what was going on or why. And, with his luck, any child or pet he openly acknowledged would end up kidnapped for ransom. So he kept his showboating and PR stunts reserved for legal adults).

But despite never getting a live-action image of their desire to see Tony holding a child (preferably theirs), it remained a fantasy for the female population at large for another twelve years. When he grew the goatee, he actually got more appealing, even for the women who didn’t like facial hair, because somehow, that took him the final step from ‘Gorgeous, Smoldering Man-child’ to ‘Walking Sex on a Stick, Satisfaction Guaranteed’.

Underwear continued to disappear, ovaries kept exploding, and the fantasies got ever more elaborate, though they were fabricated out of whole cloth.

And then Tony Stark met Peter Parker.

This was a little-known fact, both for Peter’s protection and Tony’s sanity. But little by little, the pair worked their way into each other’s hearts and lives. It took a ridiculously long time for them to acknowledge the truth of their relationship, though everyone who knew them admitted it was understandable, albeit frustrating.

But the final tipping for both of them was so unexpected, even they didn’t believe it for a while.

It started on a completely random Saturday, one too pretty to spend inside — even for workaholic, people-allergic genius engineers — and Peter was out and about, rescuing old ladies from trees (don’t ask) and carrying groceries for cats (see the aforementioned old ladies. Also, really, don’t ask), when he saw Tony Stark, dressed so casually that he thought it was just a really good impersonator, heading down the sidewalk. Still, despite his certainty that the man wasn’t his mentor, Peter couldn’t help but watch him and his certainty solidified when the lookalike entered Peter’s favorite animal shelter.

He knew that Mr. Stark didn’t really do animals, though he wasn’t sure if that was due to his childhood combined with his current lifestyle or if the man just didn’t like them. So there was no way on earth he’d just watched Tony Stark go into a pet shelter of his own free will . . . until a sound that was so familiar to him, he recognized it anywhere without consciously trying, jolted.

And so did Peter.

Because he knew Mr. Stark’s heartbeat, knew it as well as he knew his own, even though he hadn’t registered its presence until this second. So when it suddenly started beating very hard and even more erratically, it stopped Peter in his tracks. But only for a few seconds. Operating on the assumption that his mentor was in danger, he darted down the block and burst through the shelter door at a dead-run.

And came to such an abrupt halt, he tripped from his own momentum, tumbled ass over teakettle across the floor, and rolled to an ignominious stop against the registration counter.

When he was finally able to sit up and take in his surroundings, he found himself being regarded with awestruck confusion from the shelter employees, awestruck joy from the little girl crushing a puppy to her chest, and resigned exasperation from Mr. Stark.

Which . . . okay, yeah, that was fair. Even for Peter, that had been a memorable-for-all-the-wrong-reasons entrance.

Showing the grit and unflappability of your standard New Yorker, the shelter workers just blinked at him a few times before they broke into matching grins. Peter would have been flattered at their obvious pleasure at his appearance, but the manic gleam also showing on every face made his spider-sense flare up like the bicentennial 4^th of July celebration, only it was full of supervillains instead of fireworks and wow, he was seriously freaked out, because that analogy made less than no sense, but it made perfect sense and he needed to get out of there now.

But he couldn’t, because Mr. Stark was still watching him, his expression a bit too empty for Peter’s peace of mind.

See, he recognized that look and hated it with every fiber of his being. He’d rather see May cry over the bills then see Mr. Stark looking like he did right now.

And for one of the few times in his life, Peter Parker wished violence and harm on someone. Had Steve fucking Rogers been present, Peter would gleefully have broken every bone in his body without a second thought.

But he wasn’t, so Peter had to do damage control.

This was not a good thing, because damage control was something he . . . well, not to put too fine a point on it, but he sucked. In the normal course of events, Peter could not lie for love, money, apple pie, or extra patrolling privileges. But somewhere in the unrelenting honesty that was his mind, there was a tiny switch, something that only got flipped when it came to certain people: May. Ned. Tony Stark.

So seeing that empty look in his mentor’s eyes?

It flipped that little switch and Peter Parker suddenly became the most devious planner this side of both the equator and the International Date Line.

When one of the shelter workers asked a lot too eagerly if Spiderman was there to help with publicity and to get their name out in the public, he somewhat regretfully shook his head. He’d love for that to be the reason, and it was definitely something he’d look into later, but right now, he had a mentor to rescue and an IDEA to implement.

“Sorry,” he replied to the man, hating the way his face fell but refusing to allow it to sway him. “I just created a serious problem unless Mr. Stark leaves right now, because half of Queens is on their way to see why I just gate-crashed your store. But it won’t stop Mr. Stark from coming!” he added hastily, seeing the crushed expressions on everyone’s faces . . . including the cats and wow, that was a new one, even for Peter. “I’ll just tell them I thought I saw a woman with a giant snapping turtle come in here and got worried about the kittens. I know,” he added to the dubious looks that had replaced the disappointment. “It’s stupid. But it’s also just crazy enough for people to buy it and not think anything else about it.”

Given both the oddity of the borough of Queens and the aforementioned unflappability, he was proven correct not ten minutes later, after Mr. Stark successfully escaped out the back door after giving longing looks to the actual horde of kittens clamoring for his attention. He made no effort to speak to Peter — or rather, Spiderman — which worried the boy a lot, even though he understood. Completely by accident, he’d interrupted one of the man’s few external stress-relief activities, one that required nothing from him but his freely-given time, and Peter cursed himself out for that for the next two days. He couldn’t have known, true, but still: his impulsiveness and tendency to panic when one of his people was in potential danger had threatened this gentle, secluded sanctuary for Mr. Stark.

But.

But.

Seeing him surrounded by kittens and looking truly peaceful for one of the few times since Peter had known him had started a train of thought that would send Ned to the heavens with pure joy when he was recruited.

First, though: the Stark Industries interns.

Peter called an emergency meeting the next evening at 7pm, after the official day ended but before the interns collectively either dropped dead from exhaustion or found a second wind and buried themselves back in their work for the next fourteen or so hours.

After feeding them copious amounts of Chinese food, Red Bulls, and/or coffee, he presented his idea with a panache that would have flattened everyone who knew him with absolute astonishment.

“I happened to stumble across a tiny animal shelter a few days ago,” he began, showing a picture of a different shelter than the one Mr. Stark frequented on the screen wall. It was followed by images of kittens, puppies, gerbils, ferrets, hamsters . . . basically, if it was small, fluffy, and adorable, Peter had taken a picture.

There were a lot of them. He almost hadn’t made it out alive.

Predictably, the female interns melted on the spot.

Somewhat less predictably, so did most of the men.

“What’s your idea, Parker?” Irene Santos demanded, eying the section on puppies with a kind of longing that made Peter feel vaguely concerned for the jackasses who had dumped such beautiful, innocent animals at a shelter.

But he had bigger fish to fry (not literally! God, no! This group of people would filet him themselves for making such a nefarious suggestion), so he ignored her obvious plot for both adoption and revenge and continued with his speech.

“Well, quite a few of the animals I saw were injured and needed help walking and eating properly,” he began carefully, knowing that his words were going to provoke wrath and suddenly worried he had just put himself right smack in front of it. Fortunately, his fellow interns were neither petty nor stupid, so they immediately grasped his idea.

“We can do that, no problem,” Mike Sanford said, nodding vigorously even as he started to sketch out a kitten-sized prosthetic while his normal team gathered and started throwing ideas like it was their life’s work to help kittens walk again.

Which . . . well, that happened a lot faster than Peter had expected, but he shrugged and ran with it, turning to Irene, who was a social media goddess, unmatched by anyone but possibly Mr. Stark’s personal PR rep, who’d been with him since he was 22, and carefully asked, “Would it be possible to set up a . . . a campaign of some sort to raise awareness for a fundraiser? There’s no way SI will fund all this, but if we can present Marketing and PR with an established campaign, with funds and proof of sustainability . . .”

He trailed off at the narrow-eyed look he was getting from the woman, who was the middle child of five and did not take bullshit from anyone, up to and including Happy Hogan.

Then she grinned at him and he almost collapsed from the shock.

“Great idea, Parker, and yes. We can absolutely do that,” she told him, flicking a hand in the vague direction of her team, who were apparently all either telepathic or members of the Borg Collective, because they congregated at a table and started mapping things out without a single word being spoken.

Stunned, Peter just stood there, feeling both euphoric and utterly useless. He had gotten the exact outcome he wanted, but he’d honestly expected it to take three meetings, not twenty minutes. With nothing to do at the moment — he might know memes and Vines, but he couldn’t market them to people for a million dollars (he knew this from personal experience; don’t ask), and his particular expertise with bioengineering wouldn’t be required until they were ready to model and start building the equipment — he looked around the room one more time, then shrugged and called Ned.

Forty-five minutes later, Ned was literally hip-deep in the Coding team and MJ and Irene were having some kind of weird nerd version of the Black Panther challenge.

He wasn’t quite sure who won, but since nobody died, nobody was bleeding, and there was no screaming, he assumed a peaceful resolution had been reached and started absently sketching out a few of his own ideas, which Thomas Mason somehow saw despite being across the room and facing the other direction and promptly snatched up.

Well.

Okay, then.

It was time for him to join in Operation: Make Mr. Stark Happy.

Letting out a breathless laugh, Peter took Ned’s demanding hand and allowed himself to be drawn into the chaos he’d incited, finally unleashing his own enthusiasm for a project that was so dear to Mr. Stark’s heart, and thus to Peter’s own.

By 10am the next morning, showing yet again that Stark Industries never hired less than the best, Irene and MJ’s marketing campaign had borne fruit to the tune of $467,985.72, a central website containing shelter information for every New York location that FRIDAY could locate, and the beginnings of a plan to have a formal fundraiser the following month, with the proceeds to be evenly split between costs for the new prosthetics and electronic feeding/watering systems and shelter maintenance, with the stipulation that all kill shelters convert to foster and adopt. One of the coders had family who owned a feed store and had agreed to set up a monthly donation of cat and dog food, along with a steep discount for every bag of food purchased when someone adopted from a shelter. In return, they would get free advertising on the website and the first retail option if or when the new feed and water systems became commercially available.

Then, a little after eleven, Ned, who was beyond giddy because a) he hadn’t slept in going on fourteen hours and b) he’d gotten to seriously contribute to a project with SI’s intern coding department, which had been one of his deepest dreams, finally passed out from well-deserved exhaustion . . . but on the way down, he said something so disjointed, it took Peter, MJ, and FRIDAY a good two hours to decipher it.

And then it was the most brilliant idea any of them of them had ever heard.

Less than an hour after that, MJ had the entire Midtown AcaDec team on board — with the sole exception of Flash — and they’d all linked the website not just to their social media accounts, but also the National AcaDec Association page.

Instant explosion.

At no point during this admittedly-insane stage did Peter have any contact with Mr. Stark beyond their standard texting; the man had felt awkward enough about the situation to willingly attend a few meetings in California, which Peter hated, though he took full advantage of his mentor’s absence to get his surprise ready.

He supposed it was his own fault for not realizing just how enthusiastic everyone else would be. By 3pm that same afternoon, the total amount of money they’d raised had surpassed $1.5 million, twelve more feed and pet stores had made the same arrangement and deal as Lock, Stock, and Two Feeding Barrels, and the fundraiser had not only been finalized, but three more were in the works. On top of that, work on the prosthetics and feeding/watering systems was going very well; there were already several prototypes of the latter and the engineers were optimistic that a first-round model for the former would be possible by the end of the week.

All in all, things were going better than Peter could ever have dreamed and he was a lot less nervous about taking it to the requisite higher ups once the first (mostly) working prosthetic was ready.

You’d think he’d know better than to assume his Parker Luck™ would let that stand.

They never had the chance to take their proposal to Pepper Potts and the PR department.

At 3:22pm, the door to the conference room the group had commandeered for a really late lunch — or an equally early dinner; everyone had lost track and hey, pizza was pizza — opened with a quiet thud that echoed so loudly, the entire room went dead silent. Nobody even chewed as Pepper, followed by her PA, the Head of Marketing, and the head of PR, stalked into the room, eyes glittering with . . . a lot, really, and Peter felt utterly betrayed as every single person suddenly recovered the ability to move and dived behind him, shamelessly using him as a shield.

Traitors.

But he knew Pepper personally, and he knew that she loved him for his relationship with Mr. Stark, which gave him a fair bit of leeway.

Still, he had no desire to bare his soul — much less Mr. Stark’s — in front of God and everybody, so he intercepted the CEO of the company (and his mentor’s fiancée) and managed to escort her to the next room by using her surprise at his audacity to his advantage. He was blissfully unaware that the Marketing and PR reps didn’t require Pepper’s presence to get answers, though in the long run, this saved all of them a great deal of time and effort.

No. No, Peter’s focus was on the fiery redhead pinning him with a look that promised extra homework, dumbed down to a 10^th grade level and done with pencil and paper, showing his work, if he didn’t explain himself right this second.

And said explanation better solve world hunger.

“I accidentally ran into Mr. Stark visiting a pet shelter a few days ago, only I was out as Spiderman, so he had to leave instead of doing . . . whatever he does there . . . and I hate that my idiocy and impulsiveness made things awkward for him. Plus, I hate the way most shelters are run, though they can’t help it, and the kill shelters are just . . . and too many animals need medical intervention that they just can’t get. So I thought ‘what if I could keep Mr. Stark’s secret and get those poor animals the help they need?’”. He paused for a minute to let Pepper take that in, then continued as she sank down into a chair, looking intrigued now.

With a deep breath, he obliged, trying desperately not ramble more than necessary.

“His name won’t be directly linked to it, so he can keep visiting places in disguise, but it’ll help boost SI’s humanities profile — or, well, that’s what Irene and MJ said — and it’s also bringing awareness to the poor conditions of shelters across the state. And maybe the country; MJ is thorough,” he mused to himself before looking back at Pepper.

“This way, he won’t have to sneak around to get an hour of peace and quiet, because SI’s name will already be there. Someone on Irene’s team has already informed every shelter that’s agreed to partner with us that they will sign NDAs, they will protect any and all requested anonymity and privacy, and our legal department will rain hailfire and brimstone down on them if they violate those terms. God, Pepper,” he breathed, dropping down to sit beside her, “we’ve already raised more than a million dollars, somebody’s organized an official fundraiser, and we’ve got at least a dozen pet and feed stores on board with supplies and discounts for pet adoption in exchange for free advertising on the website and first option when the feed and water systems are officially available for sale.”

He stopped again and met her stunned eyes, leaning forward to give one of the most impassioned pleas he’d ever made.

“It’s insane how fast this happened. I still can’t quite believe it. But I am not taking away one of Mr. Stark’s safe places, something he loves that doesn’t have anything to do with engineering or technology. It’s just pure, innocent enjoyment, and I . . . I didn’t mean to hurt it, or him. But I did. I can’t undo it, but I can fix it. I can make it something he’ll never have to worry about, because Irene and Mike will let someone else run this project over their dead bodies — like, seriously, they swore a blood oath. It was gross. But weirdly compelling,” he explained to a disturbed Pepper, wrinkling his nose at the memory. “It won’t be a responsibility for him. But it will give him a reason, just in case he needs one. I wish he didn’t,” he added with a sigh, “but we all know his schedule and responsibilities. He was sneaking out to cuddle kittens and pet puppies to keep his stress levels down, but the stress involved in getting away almost defeated the purpose.”

“Now he won’t have to,” she murmured, eyes lighting with understanding, and Peter nodded, relief flooding his veins.

“Now he won’t have to,” he confirmed, swearing his own blood oath. He might look like a shrimpy, weedy kid, but he loved Mr. Stark and would do whatever it took to protect him and make him happy. So if the man wanted to cuddle small, adorable furry animals? Then by God, Peter would make sure he could do it as often as he wanted with as many pets as he wanted.

And that was that.

With Pepper on board, along with seriously-impressed PR and Marketing departments, Operation: Make Mr. Stark Happy exploded. Tony was still out of state when it was officially rolled out, though Happy reported that he actually broke down in tears at the sight of Pepper cuddling a three-legged puppy, tail wagging furiously as Mike fitted her with her new prosthetic leg. A few feet away, Peter was herding a litter of kittens to their new, petite-sized feed and water dishes. Their shock and then their fervent joy at being able to eat and drink without having to stand on their hind legs and still not quite reach brought tears to everyone’s eyes, and they all started bawling when Pepper’s puppy took her first running steps with four legs, barking joyously as she galloped around the room, running into and over everyone in her enthusiasm.

Tony went straight to Peter’s apartment when he got back to New York and hugged his protégé tightly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he held his son, who loved him enough to give this to him. No words were exchanged and none were needed.

But two weeks later, two pictures were snapped by a woman seeking a gerbil for herself, posted on her blog and going viral in less than ten minutes. She had vacillated for several hours before deciding to share the image, because Tony Stark got entirely too much grief from a public who knew too much and not enough, and he deserved better. No location was given, or any names; the woman had melted into a puddle at the sight, but she wasn’t about to ruin things for Tony. And if the young man at his side was who she thought he was, well . . . he deserved the world, too.

So why not try to give it to them?

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Déjà vu

Hubris is an insidious thing.

And so very, very dangerous. But not for the reason most people think.

Because the very nature of hubris leaves its victims — who are always willing and eager to fall prey to its machinations — extremely susceptible to the truth they so blithely ignore in their unshakeable conviction that they and only they are always, immutably, right.

Such was the downfall of Steve Rogers. And nobody would ever find out the complete truth of who was behind it, though the ‘why’ was blindingly obvious. But most of the world population would love to buy that person a drink.

Or possibly the entire bar.

For his part, Ned Leeds was overjoyed to have his role in events hidden. He wasn’t ashamed of his actions, not at all, but if people knew he had been the one to find and release the video, he would have been relentlessly hounded for the rest of his life.

He and his best friend, Peter Parker, had been scouring the SHIELD/HYDRA data dump that Rogers and Romanova had done a few years earlier, seeking any additional information about crimes the Rogues had committed and lied about, covered up, had covered up by someone else, and/or blamed on other people, mostly Tony Stark. They hadn’t gotten as much as they’d expected, but Ned’s hacker instincts told him there was a lot more available; he just needed to get creative about looking for it. So, after Peter headed home, Ned unleashed his slightly-unhinged inner sniffer . . . and, completely by accident, hit the jackpot nobody knew existed.

Well.

Almost nobody.

He vacillated for two days about who to tell before steeling his courage and asking JARVIS (who he and Peter had helped restore) to ask Pepper if he could talk to her the next time he was at the Tower. Understandably curious about this unusual request from the young man whose loyalty was first and always to Peter, then Tony, Pepper readily agreed and made sure to entangle the men in question in a meeting about a project they were collaborating with R&D on, leaving no witnesses and thus, no questions, about why Ned was coming to see her.

She was expecting to be stuttered at and the subject rambled around, along with an embarrassing amount of blushing, so being met with a calm, unflustered Ned Leeds took her completely by surprise.

She’d forgotten he was one of the six people who knew the full truth about not just the so-called ‘Civil War’, but also Siberia.

“I know how to punish Rogers for what he did to Mr. Stark,” was his opening statement.

Her jaw dropped.

Then JARVIS, who had his creator’s sense of humor, played the video Ned had accidentally unearthed.

And the entire Tower paused for several seconds, terrified for no reason anyone could name, as a dark, malicious joy suddenly swelled up around them, and the faint echoes of equally dark, malicious laughter could be heard in the general vicinity of her office.

“You are amazing,” she told Ned when she finally recovered her composure . . . and that brought forth the stuttering, blushing teenager she’d been expecting. Having long experience with Peter, she didn’t give him the chance to get too deep in his head and gave him a very early birthday present. “This just earned you the privilege of an official, full internship with our coding department. And yes, you deserve it. We were waiting until you finished your junior year, but this? Ned, this deserves a Presidential Medal of Freedom. I can’t give you that, but I can and will do this. SI will also pay your tuition in full, up to a doctorate, for whatever college you attend.”

Naturally, this resulted in still more stuttering and blushing, but her experience with Peter continued to work in her favor and she was able to escort him — still stuttering and blushing and rambling and possibly beat-rapping — back to the lab where, with FRIDAY’s able assistance, she successfully distracted him with a coding problem that department had been failing to solve for going on five months.

Just before she left, though, she remembered a trait both Peter and Ned shared and paused, resting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“No one but me will know about your involvement. When people ask, JARVIS found it. You will be safe, Ned. I promise.”

He trusted her, though it would take several months to really believe it. But at that moment, her word was enough, and his only response was, “What are you going to do with it?”

Her reply was so full of malevolent satisfaction, he actually felt sorry for Rogers for half a nanosecond . . . until he remembered what the bastard had done to Mr. Stark and how deeply he’d betrayed not just him, but the world.

“I’m going to wait a bit and let him get complacent. Then, once I have all the players and pieces in place, when he’s at his most vulnerable, I’m going to do him what he did to Tony: cram it down his throat with no warning and at the worst possible time — but also in front of God and everyone and make sure he has no support and nowhere to hide when the truth shatters his life,” she told him, eyes glowing gold for just a second.

His smile was as vicious as hers and they parted ways on the silent agreement to never speak of this again . . . but that knowledge, and the depth of Ned’s loyalty to Tony — wholly separate from Peter — forged an unexpected bond between the CEO and the hacker/coder/programmer, one that grew and deepened surprisingly quickly after he became her personal programmer and IT man when Tony’s expertise wasn’t required. When his parents were killed in a car wreck some months later, she would adopt him.

For two months, nothing happened . . . other than the Rogue Avengers finally being brought to trial, a tedious process that took more than six weeks to finally get started (Rogers wanted to whine about red tape for Avengers missions? He'd clearly never had a single experience with the actual mile, minimum, of mostly-useless red tape that international bureaucracy demanded). And that was when Pepper made her first official move: she ensured that Rogers would be tried last instead of concurrently with his teammates. Given the crimes he had committed not just against Tony (many of which were found thanks to the tireless efforts of Peter and Ned), but the world at large, nobody argued with her; in the grand scheme of things, this was an easy request to grant.

And so it was that Steve Rogers got to watch Sam Wilson turn on him by accident, forced into admitting the truth when he was put on the stand and given to the merciless clutches of Matt Murdock. His admission of his own crimes, lies, and willful involvement in and silence about the crimes his teammates had committed saw him sentenced to 32 years of hard labor — to help pay back not just the cost of the Falcon wings he’d stolen, but also his part of the damage he had done in Berlin, Bucharest, and Leipzig — without the chance of parole. Barton was next, his sentence longer due to the astounding number of crimes committed under SHIELD’S aegis, but he was sentenced to solitary confinement in prison instead of working off his punishment, as it was simply too high a risk to allow him in public, even under heavy guard and shackled with vibranium.

Maximoff was tried and sentenced to death in less than a day. The training videos alone ensured that, never mind her culpability in ULTRON and Sokovia, which were also on video and audio recording, clear as day, and when her crimes under Rogers’ complicit leadership were added to it . . . he railed about how unfair it was, she was just a kid and her bad choices were all Tony’s fault, and was summarily ignored by literally everyone. Even her lawyer scoffed at his protests, which actually shut him up when he realized the woman didn’t want him to help her client avoid being executed.

Romanova was convicted not just for war crimes and terrorism, but also treason because of her massive role in the SHIELD data dump — and her stupidity in bragging about it afterwards. She, too, would be executed, and again Rogers’ protests of her innocence and the necessity of her actions were dismissed. To his fury and considerable disbelief, he was completely and totally irrelevant to what was happening, other than as a witness to both his failings and theirs, and everyone’s ultimate downfall.

Truly, that was one of the more satisfying parts of the trials: watching Steve Rogers finally realize his complete and total irrelevance.

Barnes was found ‘not guilty by reason of diminished capacity and extreme circumstances’ and remanded to a secure location, which was kept hidden from everyone for his safety. Rogers’ wails of outrage at being denied knowledge of ‘his Bucky’s safety from Tony and the corrupt governments of the Accords’ were actively laughed at, which created even more tantrums, and everyone got great entertainment for a full day before the poor souls assigned to babysit him finally had enough and sedated him so he was awake, but not able to move or speak for several hours. They would rather have gagged him, but too many people sniveled about ‘inhumane’ and it wasn’t worth the argument. Besides, this was just as effective: he still couldn’t whine, rage, or throw a tantrum.

Lang surrendered himself and was promptly sent back to prison, where he was quickly forgotten.

T’Challa lost his throne and his diplomatic immunity and, at his mother’s strong demand, was tried and convicted for veritable plethora of crimes as well, and was imprisoned for one extremely unpleasant year in South Korea before being sent back to Wakanda. The only reason he got off so lightly was because he was royalty, disgraced or not, and there were certain precedents nobody was willing to set. Or forego. But it must be remarked on that T’Challa was a much more reasonable, much less arrogant man after that experience. It must also be noted that his mother, having learned well from her son’s many mistakes and great idiocy, sent her daughter first back to the schoolroom to beat some of the arrogance out of her, and solidified both the lessons and the attitude of good leadership by making her serve as a page and a clerk and a personal assistant to various diplomats in countries all over the world.

Rogers was present at each trial, so none of this was hidden from him, meaning that by the time his own trial started, he was demoralized and angry and frustrated and yet, still firmly believed that he was right, the Accords were corrupt and everyone was bullying him for standing up to said corruption.

But he wasn’t afraid.

And he wasn’t remorseful. Despite everything he had been shown, everything he’d heard, and everything his teammates had confessed to, he still truly believed he’d done the right thing. This was verified by Charles Xavier, who refused to allow any doubt who and what the man really was: a self-righteous, sanctimonious, selfish, hypocritical man-child who genuinely believed that he was always right because he was Captain America, a good man who always did the right thing, so everything he wanted was also the right thing. The fact that Xavier was so disturbed by the tenor of the man’s mind and actually had to excuse himself from the courtroom after his testimony was very, very telling.

Rogers maintained that attitude, that lack of remorse, in the face of the death toll, injuries, property damage, and destruction from the data dump.

He maintained that attitude when the deaths, injuries, and damages from Johannesburg, Sokovia, Lagos, Berlin, and Bucharest were detailed.

He maintained that attitude when the destruction of Leipzig Airport was shown.

He maintained that attitude when the videos from Siberia were played. Both of them.

He maintained that attitude when he was found guilty and sentenced to life without parole, serving half his sentence in hard labor for the same reasons as Wilson, and half in solitary confinement for the same reasons as Barton. This was despite the fact that Helen Cho and Hank McCoy had developed a counter to his particular variant of the serum; it would work and strip him of his strength and healing, they guaranteed that, but there was no way to know what, exactly, it would do to his body. He might revert to his original form, or he might retain his current build, just without the strength and speed and healing that made him nearly invincible. And without that knowledge, it was prudent to have a place to confine him just in case.

And, frankly, one of the worst punishments one could give Steve Rogers was isolation. He thrived on being venerated and adored, so denying him any possibility of it was viciously apropos.

Hearing that he was going to lose the privilege of being a super soldier outraged him, and he might even have feared it.

But there wasn’t a single shred of regret. Not an inkling of remorse. And not a hint of understanding about why he’d been found guilty and this specific set of punishments levied.

In every conceivable way, according to Professor Xavier, Steve Rogers felt nothing but justified, because he was always right and everyone who disagreed, argued with, or opposed him was a bully, a Nazi, or corrupt. And the people and places between him and what he wanted? They were regrettable, but acceptable, collateral damage. He tried, but he couldn’t save everyone, and more people would have died if he hadn’t been there. Data and evidence refuting that assertion were scoffed at and brushed aside, because ‘he was Captain America and Captain America is a Good Man who is always right. So everything he does is the right thing and everyone and everything that’s hurt or destroyed during his pursuit of his goals either deserves it for opposing him or were unavoidable and regrettable, but necessary, because their death and pain helped Captain America achieve his objectives’.

Quite a few people wondered — and were outraged — why he wasn’t given the death sentence, too, since not only had he actively protected two HYDRA assets while covering up their crimes, but the data dump had initially been his idea and he had ordered it even in the face of opposition from Nick Fury and Maria Hill. Not to mention the videos and testimony detailing his refusal to fight Barnes, his refusal to consider any other options — like, say, calling Tony Stark — and his callous arrogance in destroying three huge, airborne aircraft in a densely populated area with neither thought nor concern for any of the lives he was so ready and eager to ruin.

It therefore wasn’t surprising that so many people were clamoring for the death penalty and demanding to know why his crimes had only earned him life in prison, especially in the face of his arrogance and indifference to the hurt and pain and loss he had caused to so many people.

The answer was Pepper Potts.

Before Ned’s discovery of Rogers’ ultimate punishment, she had fully intended to hold Tony’s jacket while he killed the bastard, or execute him herself if her fiancé decided that Rogers wasn’t worth any more of his time or attention.

Then she was handed a measure of revenge and vengeance and justice so unutterably beautiful, so perfect, that Rogers’ death instantly became untenable.

So she made sure that Wilson, Barton, Romanova, and Maximoff were there, bound and gagged like the criminals they were, when the verdict was read, because she wanted every single one of those useless, worthless sycophants to witness Rogers being forced to suffer the same betrayal he had so deliberately and cruelly perpetrated on Tony, betrayal they had all participated in and justified to themselves, to the court, to the world, and to Tony. But her main priority, her second biggest power play, was Nick Fury. It took calling in a very old favor, some delicate maneuvering, and several bitter former SHIELD agents who were hungry for vengeance, but she ensured he was not only standing within ten yards of Rogers, he was facing him. Both men were in direct sight of each other.

Nobody got to hide from what was coming.

She’d also managed to work a second miracle and keep Tony away after his testimony, given the first day, by using Peter, Rhodes, Ned, and the inescapable logic that Rogers would be more bothered and upset by his indifference and absence than anything else. And, frankly, he wasn’t worth the time it would take to spit on him once his fate was sealed. Unable to argue that — and lured by the promise of fixing some equipment at CERN as well as a personal, private tour — Tony gave her a lingering kiss and headed out with a group who would utterly destroy anything and anyone who tried to hurt him again.

Alone, Pepper waited.

She didn’t slip into the courtroom until the judges reconvened to issue their verdict and used the distraction to find a place that gave her a clear view of Rogers’ face but shielded her from him. She fully intended to see him break, would relish his suffering, but he was prone to throwing tantrums when presented with things he didn’t like. This? This was going to destroy him. And if he saw her, disguised though she was, he would instantly assume that things were Tony’s doing and attack her because she was there and Tony wasn’t, and frankly, that was a headache she didn’t need.

She didn’t have to wait long, maybe ten minutes, and had to exercise considerable restraint to keep from pulling out her phone and checking emails or surfing Facebook or something, meaning she greeted the signal that all was ready with a slightly disproportionate amount of relief.

When the final sentence was pronounced and Rogers just stood there, looking as defiant and unrepentant as he was stunned, she finally struck.

JARVIS, loyal to Tony above all things, protective to a frightening degree, and possessed of a dark vindictive streak of his own, took her cue and co-opted the viewing screen in the courtroom.

He also took full advantage of the Wi-Fi feed that allowed the trial to stream live to the world.

The loud noise of the room quickly faded to silence when a washed-out color video began to play. The date in the upper left corner read 4-25-1994: Prospective Director of SHIELD Interview, Part 3.

On the screen was one Nicholas J. Fury.

And one Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter, Director of SHIELD.

On seeing their images, Fury turned a pale, sickly grey and tried — and failed — to edge his way out of the box he didn’t realize he was trapped in. Rogers went perfectly still, his eyes fixed with greedy desperation on Carter.

Pepper took a deep, satisfied breath and let her lips curve in a tiny smile.

The woman next to her gave her a wary glance and swallowed.

“As Director of SHIELD, you have to be prepared to make decisions that aren’t just hard, but sometimes are genuinely ugly. Stomach-turning, even,” Carter told Fury, holding his eyes without blinking.

“I understand,” Fury replied, looking and sounding unconcerned.

Carter gave an unimpressed scoff. “Do you?” she mused, her voice dangerously soft. “So when I tell you that my superiors in the SSR ordered the death of Sergeant James Barnes in December of ’44, it won’t horrify you.”

It was a statement, not a question, and she was visibly satisfied when Fury didn’t blink.

Rogers jerked in his chair, nearly breaking his wrists as a wordless cry of denial left his lips, which immediately devolved into outraged, incoherent shouting, full of disbelief and insults and threats and more denial. The sight of him being forcibly restrained and muzzled by six of the agents he had burned was so very enjoyable, especially since they made sure he couldn’t look away from the screen. Pepper took great pleasure in his reaction, and Fury’s well-hidden panic was a nice bonus, but then a small movement from the Rogues’ direction caught her eye and she glanced over . . . and saw Natasha Romanova staring at Rogers, her eyes wide with alarm and maybe even a little sadness.

But there wasn’t so much as a flicker of surprise.

Well, well, well. What a shock. Was she properly holding back her astonishment?

Although . . . seeing the spy’s lack of reaction suddenly made Pepper wonder if Fury had told her because he’d discovered the same thing as the SSR and the Army: Steve Rogers was not only unmanageable, he was also unreasonable, refused to compromise on anything, and was utterly incapable of seeing anything but his own goals.

She wasn’t stupid; she knew full well that Fury and SHIELD were desperate to get Tony under their control because they badly wanted his genius, his money and resources, and his connections under their aegis so they could remake the world in their own image. It was why they’d gone to so much trouble to foster a bad relationship between Tony and the rest of the ‘team’, among many other failed manipulations.

The thing they refused to acknowledge or admit was that Tony wasn’t remotely uncontrollable; he was a very reasonable man, in fact . . . when he knew, understood, and agreed with the rationale, which was the exact reason he didn’t trust SHIELD or Fury and refused to work with them unless the world was ending.

Steve Rogers, though . . . well. Pepper wouldn’t be remotely surprised to discover that SHIELD had learned a very hard lesson at a very steep cost and had tried to solve said problem quietly and from the shadows because admitting they’d screwed up would apparently cause the world to end.

Another look back to Rogers showed he was sitting ramrod straight in the chair, held in place by two agents, hands fisted, jaw clenched, and eyes locked on the screen. They were full of tears, disbelief, denial, rage . . . the betrayer was just feeling so many things, none of them pleasant, and Pepper drew another deep, satisfied breath.

Vengeance was so very sweet.

“I can’t say I’m not surprised, but the SSR wasn’t military, so they didn’t have the same rules and restrictions. And they ran a lot more dangerous, ugly missions,” Fury answered, leaning back in his chair. “But now that you’ve told me, I’ll admit to being curious as to the reason.”

This earned a bitter laugh before Carter sighed and rested her elbows on the table, looking away for a minute to gather her thoughts.

“You’ll need the backstory,” she began, sitting up straight and once more donning the persona of Director of SHIELD. “First thing is that Erskine was a lot more paranoid than we realized. And despite his brilliance, he was so unbelievably stupid, it defies all logic. It just took us reading his private diary to realize that. You see, after what happened with Johann Schmidt, he decided that he couldn’t risk giving the serum to a person who was truly intelligent and aware of it, which Schmidt was. His ego was legendary long before he became the Red Skull. Erskine also decided that he couldn’t have someone who was physically strong, because the serum would apparently make those traits go to the subject’s head and cause them to become a megalomaniac. How he came to that conclusion from just one person, I’ll never know, but I’m not a scientist. But those were his new criteria. So when he met Steve, well, it was perfect: a physically weak man, one who wasn’t bursting with intelligence but not grunt soldier stupid, either, and who seemingly displayed a strong moral code in his stance on ‘bullies’. Plus, he was blonde and had blue eyes. It was like he was tailor-made for Erskine’s revenge.”

Rogers screamed into his vibranium-reinforced muzzle, but not a single person looked his way.

Only a lifetime of discipline kept Pepper from laughing.

“Huh. I suppose that makes sense,” Fury said slowly, clearly fishing for more, and got a cold smile.

“It does. Phillips hated the decision from the second it was made and he actively opposed it starting on Steve’s second day of boot camp. He was completely unsuited for military life, and not just because he refused to be told what to do. Anyone else would have been sent home with a dishonorable discharge. Well, actually, he never would have been there, but Project Rebirth was under the SSR’s purview, not the Army’s, so Philips didn’t get a say. Of course, when Erskine was killed and Steve not only caused more than a quarter million dollars of damage chasing Heinz Krueger down but also killed him instead of capturing him so he could be questioned . . . after that, nobody argued his decision to send Steve to the bond circuit. It was partly to get him away from an active war unit, but mostly to teach him some discipline and restraint in a different, calmer setting. Nobody intended him to stay there longer than eight or ten weeks, but that’s because we were expecting him to learn control, and discipline, and how to properly fight in a one-on-one environment, instead of just throwing punches until who or whatever fell over. In short, we expected him to grow up and become the soldier we so badly needed and he claimed he wanted to be. So him turning into a petulant adolescent girl took us all by surprise.”

“I imagine so,” Fury drawled, bringing a cigarette to his lips and lighting it after Carter refused his offer of one.

“We really didn’t know what to do with him other than leave him there, because he not only raised an absurd amount of money, he literally hadn’t learned a damned thing about being a soldier: no discipline, no restraint, no patience, and according to his CO, his sense of entitlement was still off the charts  . . . and then James was captured and he immediately went haring off to rescue him. Despite my supe—well, to be honest, everyone objected — I remembered how determined he was to do something after people told him he couldn’t. Combine that with his complete failure to learn anything before or after the procedure, and we didn’t have anything to lose, other than an entire Special Forces unit who’d already been written off. So I convinced Howard to fly him out, because no one else would do it and Howard was a lot better pilot than most people knew. And damned if Steve didn’t succeed. He brought the entire unit back, safe and mostly unharmed.”

She paused, watching Fury’s cigarette burn, then sighed.

“At first, we were thrilled: we thought finally had our weapon. But it didn’t take a month for our hubris to get shoved down our throats. Steve Rogers would not listen to anyone. For any reason. As far as he was concerned, he neither had nor needed a commanding officer and he certainly didn’t need any training or combat aids. He was strong and powerful and could beat anything up. Every battle he fought, he won because of his brilliance, and nothing and nobody could convince him otherwise. He went into the ice without ever realizing that Phillips and Ralston ran point and just used him as a battering ram and distraction. That was a very serious problem, though it could be worked around and even used, assuming there was enough time."

She paused again and sighed once more, shaking her head at the memory.

"But then Barnes got hurt and Rogers abandoned his post to rescue him and got five civilians killed. When he was informed of that fact, he just looked obstinate and said, “I had to help Bucky. He was hurt.” And for him, that was that. His actions were perfectly justified in his mind, and Barnes came back alive and well, so everything was fine. And that was when the other Howlies came forward privately and told us how often that happened, and how obvious it was to everyone — including the Germans — that Barnes was Steve’s weak spot, and he had no discipline or control, especially when it came to his safety. If losing Barnes meant saving 100 lives, Steve would shrug and say they couldn’t save everyone, and go after Barnes.”

One could have heard a feather falling in the silence of the courtroom . . . except for the broken, muffled sobs of Steve Rogers.

Pepper’s smile was positively beatific.

The woman standing next to her swallowed and eased a little further away.

Fury hummed deep in his throat. “That would be a problem,” he agreed, sounding surprisingly neutral, and Carter nodded, looking tired all of a sudden.

“It was. The general consensus was that keeping Barnes and Steve together was the issue. Separate them so Steve didn’t have to worry about James and everything would be fine. So Phillips transferred Barnes to another unit, one that was headed to fight Kesselring in Italy . . . and Steve literally lost his mind. He destroyed two tanks and a Jeep so he could get to James’ transport and either stop it or join it, and the Army and SSR both realized they had no choice but to either keep Barnes with the Howlies or kill one of them, because Steve refused to be separated from him. We still thought that Steve was the better option as a soldier, if only because he was almost indestructible, but that incident finally forced everyone to admit that as long as Barnes was alive and well, Steve would be useless. He was unmanageable on a good day, but endanger James Barnes or potentially risk him, and the world could burn while Steve ensured he was safe. I don’t know if the idea of permanent injury was floated, because the Army couldn’t just send him home for no reason, and ‘I could no longer serve as Steve Rogers’ teddy bear’ wasn’t a viable excuse. But it doesn’t matter. Steve had to be gotten under control,” she said so matter-of-factly, Fury flinched. It was subtle, but there.

“After another disastrous mission that was only saved by the sheer dumb luck of a shed collapsing and distracting the Germans while Steve panicked over James, the SSR had had enough, and they ordered James’ death. The plan was to have him killed by friendly fire in the middle of a battle, so everyone would assume it was the Germans and be an understandable outcome, the risk every soldier takes. Steve would grieve and maybe even go a little crazy, but as unstable as he already was, it couldn’t get much worse. We could point that crazed instability at a German battalion and stand back, knowing he’d obliterate it, and do that as many times as necessary. Since he had a massive crush on me, I was assigned as his handler. The assumption was that he would listen to me.”

Fury snorted and stubbed out the cigarette. “That was risky,” he observed. “I can see the logic and the reasoning, but it was risky. Way too much could go wrong.”

“Like the unit running into a squad of HYDRA agents on the mountain pass?” she replied tartly and he shrugged, conceding the point. “Nobody saw that coming. But the objective was achieved: James Barnes was killed. Only, his loss didn’t make Steve settle down so he could be used like the weapon he was after he grieved. No, he exceeded everyone’s expectations and went completely off the rails. There was no controlling him after that, no reining him in. At all. Not even I could do it, though at first he would think about my request before either refusing or changing it to suit himself.”

She paused and swallowed hard, clearly remembering something unpleasant, and then sighed.

“Steve was . . . James’ death at HYDRA’s hands was the worst thing that could have happened. From that moment, he didn’t give a damn about the German army or the war itself. All he cared about was obliterating HYDRA. And that would have been fine, only — as ever — he went too far. In his zeal to kill everyone he blamed for James’ death, he destroyed more towns, property, and military equipment than anyone could keep up with, on both sides, and we lost count of the civilian casualties. Then he heard the rumors about the Tesseract and its ability to rewrite reality, and that Schmidt had it, and that became his only goal in life: get the cube and bring Barnes back. The amount of destruction he wreaked when he followed a lead for that damned artifact and it wasn’t there . . . it was horrifying,” she said so quietly, Fury had to lean forward to hear it. His expression was blank, but his shoulders were taut with tension.

“He quickly became so dangerous to the Allies that we were forced to realize we’d have to kill him, too, because he was never going to stop. He was never going to calm down, mature, and become the soldier and weapon he was supposed to be. He only cared about avenging James and without him there to keep Steve’s worst impulses under control, he was nothing but a walking, unpinned grenade that constantly reset itself. He couldn’t be controlled or even safely used as a weapon to destroy any of our enemies, because he was just too stubborn, too pigheaded, and too determined to get what he wanted, damn anything that stood in his way. Eliminating him was the only option, because in our hubris, we’d made him virtually indestructible — and Howard was in Los Alamos, helping Oppenheimer. Even we couldn’t get someone in there, meaning there was no way to counteract the serum, or weaken it. And there was no chance he’d just go meekly home; but even if we could get him back to the States, he’d just sneak back over, no matter what it took or who he hurt. So they reassigned me after three weeks and started making plans to take him out and blame the Germans but not irreparably damage morale.”

“That sounds terrifying. And impossible,” the future director quietly said, leaning forward a little and pinning Carter with a knowing look. “When did you find out about the plan for Barnes?”

She blew out a deep breath, took one, and blew it out as well before finally answering.

“Two days before they got on the train,” she replied.

Rogers screamed in agonized betrayal and furious denial before breaking down in desolate whimpers . . . but even then, he couldn’t look away from the recorded embodiment of his betrayal.

It was magnificent.

“Did you try to warn him?” Fury asked, looking unsurprised when she shook her head. “Either of them?”

“No. I thought about it, but you have to remember: the train wasn’t the plan,” she explained. “It was the pitched battle that was supposed to happen the day after. Three snipers had already been inserted or put in position, so even if Steve had known, he couldn’t have stopped it. Shield or no shield, inhuman reflexes or not, nobody can stop three bullets fired simultaneously from three distinctly different directions, from expert marksmen. James . . . God help me, James would die either way, so telling Steve would only have hurt him. And it would ultimately have made things worse, because he would have turned his murderous rage on the SSR instead of the Germans or HYDRA. I just couldn’t risk that. So I kept quiet. And then later, what good would telling him have done? James was dead, even though it truly was at HYDRA’s hands instead of ours, but the intention was still there. And we were doing it for the greater good, because with Barnes in play, Steve was completely useless to everyone. It was his own fault for refusing to become the weapon he wanted to be so badly that he volunteered for an experiment that by rights should have killed him. If he’d just fallen into line and accepted his role, we would have gladly fed his battle hunger. After all, that was the whole purpose behind Project Rebirth. It was just everyone’s bad luck that Erskine was a hideous judge of character. In retrospect, it should have been Barnes.”

Rogers’ pathetic whimpers, so perfectly stifled by the Tony Stark-designed muzzle, were soothing emotional bruises Pepper didn’t know she had, and she couldn’t keep her satisfied, extremely malevolent smile hidden any longer.

Seeing the destruction and the soul-shattering misery of an enemy she loathed more than anyone she’d ever known — including Obadiah Stane — was so deeply, viscerally satisfying, tears of joy sprang to Pepper’s eyes.

Carter fell silent and neither of them spoke for several minutes. Fury finally shifted and lit another cigarette. “Do you regret not telling him?” he asked, voice perfectly even.

Without hesitation, she shook her head. “No. I hate that we killed a good man for nothing, but at the time, we honestly had no way of knowing that. With the available information, and Steve’s very blatant, and consistent, behavior, it was the best possible solution — and we had no reason to think that losing Barnes wouldn’t force him to become what we wanted. What we needed. Finding out that he would never be anything but an uncontrollable, petulant, violent, destructive child was . . . very dismaying. And Steve wasn’t like us; his world was black and white, and also set in stone. He could never understand our reasoning, much less agree, and telling him wouldn’t change anything. It still happened, it still would have happened, so why rock the boat?”

She paused expectantly, but Fury just nodded, so she continued.

“And . . . well, we did get a few good successes out of it before he saved us the trouble and crashed the Valkyrie. But Barnes . . . that was a hard, ugly decision to make. And while I wasn’t involved in the debate, I still knew, and I had to make the choice to speak up or stay quiet. It was . . . difficult, Nick. I liked Steve for the most part, though I was eternally grateful we were rarely stationed in the same place afterwards. He thought we were falling in love because I was the only woman who paid him any attention before the serum and he had as little personal restraint and discipline that he did as a soldier. It . . . it got very awkward a few times. I mean, the serum was part of the reason I paid such close attention, naturally, but I try to treat everyone with respect when I first meet them, and I did use his feelings to my advantage a few times, but only to distract him or get him to do something we needed. It was my misfortune that he mistook those interactions for true flirting and genuine attraction.”

“Really?” Fury said, finally looking surprised. “But . . . when he took the plane down . . .”

“Well, what would you have done?” she replied waspishly. “We all knew he was about to die. There was no escaping that. I could be cold and brutal and crush his dreams just so he understood how things really were, or I could comfort him in his final moments and let him have his fantasy. Despite my sins, there was no reason to hurt him like that. So I lied to him again and he died feeling gentle regret instead of bitter rejection. That was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.”

His choked, desolate sob was one of the sweetest sounds Pepper had ever heard. The silver tears sliding down those perfect cheeks, formed in eyes full of horrified denial and bitter heartbreak, were just as beautiful.

The crack in Pepper’s heart finally began to heal.

Slowly, Fury nodded and leaned back again.

“So what was the point of this little walk down memory lane?” he asked, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that would have unnerved anyone else. She merely raised her eyebrows.

“As Director of SHIELD, one day you’ll have to make the wrong decision for the right reasons, even if you don’t know that at the time. And you’ll have to stand behind it. Sometimes, that impossible decision will hurt or kill someone you like, or even love. I respected James Barnes more than I can say, and I did like Steve, just not the way he wanted. I kept the secret of his best friend’s death because telling him would have cost us his loyalty, such as it was, and his abilities, as useless they ended up being. And if he hadn’t taken that plane down, I would have been complicit in his death as well, because it was necessary. Do you have the stomach and the balls to do the same?”

Fury stared at her for several minutes with a deep, thoughtful expression.

He didn’t answer.

The video went to static and for a short eternity, the room was completely quiet.

Then Rogers screamed again, lunging against his restraints in a violent attempt to free himself and get to Nick Fury, who was surrounded and blocked in by twelve of his own former agents and actually looked afraid, while the room descended into chaos. All he succeeded in doing was tearing the skin around his wrists before one of his babysitters, already tired of the flailing, put him in a headlock and applied a specially-designed Taser to the bundle of nerves at his shoulder.

It was, Peter had explained, a Vulcan nerve pinch, only without the requirements of brute strength and telepathy.

This made no sense to Pepper, who had watched the original Star Trek but never read any of the novels, but the end result was still satisfying: Rogers vibrated in his chair for several minutes before the charge worked its way through his body and left him conscious but unable to move. But his eyes . . .

They were pinned to Fury and promised a death so unspeakable, the former director of SHIELD was visibly alarmed.

This was her moment.

No.

No, this was Tony’s moment. He wasn’t here, and he shouldn’t be, but she wanted Steven Grant Rogers, the Great Captain America, to know that now everyone knew his truth.

The entire world knew that he’d betrayed a friend for nothing, because the woman he loved had allowed HYDRA to capture, torture, and abuse the man he’d destroyed the world for. And then she’d lied to him even as she used him. She had done the exact same thing to Rogers that he had done to Tony. She’d even used identical justification.

The poetic justice was breathtaking in its righteousness.

Pepper shed the scarf hiding her mouth and distinctive hair, gently patted the strands into place, and stepped into his view, loving the way he jolted when he recognized her before his entire countenance began radiating a threat he would never be able to make good on. The rage and betrayal blazing in his eyes was eclipsed by his clear determination to blame someone, anyone, for what he’d just learned, and Pepper couldn’t help it. He was completely helpless and utterly at her mercy, and he still thought he had any power.

Knowing he would hear it, she laughed softly in response to the wordless demand he truly believed was imperious . . . and even though it was nearly silent, her amusement still split the noise of the room and the cacophony instantly died as every person’s gaze fixed on the face-off with the wary fascination of a mongoose watching a cobra.

Her genuine amusement at the predicament she’d put him in cut Rogers so deeply, his fingernails drew blood as he realized that she, too, had known before today. His hatred was a palpable thing, so strong it was visibly writhing in the space between them, but she just arched both perfectly-shaped eyebrows, daring him to do a single damn thing while bound, gagged, and shackled to an indestructible chair.

It was so very satisfying to watch that hatred vanish, smothered by a desperate plea for this to be a lie, a joke, a prank . . . anything but the truth. At that moment, Steve Rogers would sell his soul for this to be nothing but Pepper’s idea of revenge for Tony, not the new reality born from the ashes of the life he himself had burned to the ground.

She took great, malicious joy in crushing his final dream. Her smile drew blood, but she wasn’t anywhere near merciful enough to make that cut deep enough to kill him. Oh, no. She fully intended that Rogers would suffer from this knowledge for the next century, at the absolute minimum. She would never allow him to have another peaceful day for the rest of his long, miserable life.

“Is it still okay, Steve?” she asked in a voice so sweet and poisonous that everybody listening took a step back and swallowed. Hard. “Was betraying Tony still the right decision?”

Tears filled his despairing, desperate, disbelieving eyes again, but his words were smothered and unintelligible because he had verbally abused Tony too many times and the people who loved him had had enough. Since Rogers couldn’t keep a civil tongue in his head, he didn’t get the privilege of using it.

Pepper’s smile widened.

“He was your friend,” she told him, sounding almost tender . . . and terrifying the entire world, which was still collectively watching. “Of course, so was she.”

Steve Rogers broke.

As she walked away, each step punctuated by a pitiful, desolate cry of denial, heartbreak, and betrayal, the taste of victory grew ever stronger and sweeter and healed her cracked heart and bruised soul, because justice had finally been served. In every possible way. And so had vengeance.

When Tony met her at the door, windswept and looking like an avenging angel, she laughed in pure joy and relief so strong, it almost broke her heart even as he kissed her like she was the only oxygen left on Earth.

It was done. Tony was finally free: free of the guilt, free of the lies, free of the manipulations. Free from the past. His life was finally his own and he was holding out his hand, asking her to share it with him.

Her smile was as joyful as his when she nodded, and he released her long enough to summon his suit . . . and then hers. A heartbeat later, they were soaring through the skies, free for the first time in so very long, and heading for their future with wild, jubilant abandon.

Halfway home, they were joined by War Machine and Spiderman, with Ned narrating on comms and Happy grumbling about getting that much Italian food on such short notice, and Pepper laughed again. She was here, with her family, and the world was finally at their feet.

Nothing could stop them now.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Reality Check (Your Ego at the Door)

Bruce Banner is known for many things.

Primarily, though admittedly through the disproportionately-slanted fault of both his own and that of Thaddeus Ross (who bore the lion’s share of the aforementioned fault), being the Hulk is without a doubt his most famous exploit.

On the non-superhero/angry rage beast side of things, among the STEM community, he is very well-known for his high IQ, his seven PhDs, and his vast library of published works on various, though related, scientific fields.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but Bruce Banner is famous as himself, and while he tries to be humble, he enjoys that fact, though becoming the Hulk tainted that enjoyment a lot, because now he’s dangerous and a monster waiting to happen. Still, he has gotten used to people in the biology and chemistry worlds being . . . well, awed, when they meet him, especially since he isn’t as arrogant or in-your-face as Tony Stark or as insulated and lacking in people skills as Jane Foster and Erik Selvig. Yes, he always spends the first ten or fifteen minutes of meeting a new person fumbling for words and feeling an unsettling combination of anger, frustration, and fear, but that’s a direct response to people immediately gushing about how awesome the Hulk is. Without fail, every person Bruce Banner meets for the first time is excited about the Hulk before the scientist, which is frustrating but understandable.

It’s only when their curiosity has been satisfied — or, more likely, Bruce has simply shut them down, partly because he fears the Hulk too much to be comfortable with the kind of eager fanboying he inevitably gets, especially from teens and young college kids; and mostly partly because Bruce Banner deserves that attention, not his monstrous alter-ego — that their attention finally turns to Doctor Bruce Banner, PhD, and the fanboying starts all over again.

It is this excitement he’s become addicted to: he loves being gushed over and his brilliance gasped at, because it’s a surefire way to remind him that he’s more than a mindless beast, more than the abused boy who survived his father, more than the man Thaddeus Ross is determined to hunt to extinction for something that he knows full well is a threat he created and even aliens in another galaxy know cannot be replicated.

And of course, he enjoys the ego-stroking for its own sake. It’s one thing to know he’s the smartest person in the room (unless Tony is there, but that’s a jealous insecurity he refuses to openly admit, though it has definitely caused some friction in their relationship); it’s quite different to have other people acknowledge that and praise him for it, understand that he is The Expert in so many related areas of the fields of biology and chemistry, and not only ask for his thoughts and opinions and ideas, but take them as gospel.

When he finds out that Tony is mentoring a young genius, one who shares Tony’s unique and intuitive grasp and understanding of all things Science, albeit with a strong penchant for chemistry and biology instead of electrical and computer engineering, he’s highly intrigued. His primary fields of interest are split between those same categories, so he’s eager to meet this kid and see what he can teach him that Tony can’t. If he’s as intelligent and gifted as Tony (and Pepper and Happy and the intern rumor mill) likes to brag, then he definitely needs to have his interests both expanded and well-rounded, and who better to help him than Bruce, renowned for his expertise in the very fields Peter shows so much promise?

It’s several weeks before the chance comes; since he and Tony share the Mad Scientist tendencies toward odd hours, ideas that like to come out of the clear blue nowhere, and a total inability to write that idea down and wait until they’ve gotten some sleep, bolstered by coffee, their schedules rarely overlap. And, of course, they work on two different floors and their ideas intersect less than one might imagine.

So on that rare occasion he’s gone to Tony’s lab for a consult, he’s first puzzled, then excited, to hear Pepper and a voice he doesn’t recognize laughing at Tony, who’s loudly sulking over the loss of ‘that wide-eyed, respectful, rambling kid who couldn’t say three words without gushing ‘that’s awesome, Mr. Iron Stark’. They must be talking about Peter and Bruce is now even more eager to meet the boy. He hasn’t been fawned over with that level of enthusiasm since . . . well, actually, since the first time he and Tony met and the engineer demonstrated his overall intelligence, his specific knowledge of Bruce and his abilities, and his easy acceptance of the Hulk.

At his request, FRIDAY lets him in and Bruce quickly makes his way to the little alcove/nest-thing Tony created along the near wall, in the center, with two beanbag chairs, an obscenely comfortable couch, and a full-sized fridge stocked with at least one of every snack known to the American man.

Four heads snap around when he appears. Two of them belong to teenage boys and Bruce feels the usual twinned emotions of apprehension that they’ll fear the Hulk and eagerness at being recognized for himself and bombarded with eager questions.

It takes him extremely aback when neither of those things happen. Tony introduces him to both boys — one his intern Peter and the other his best friend and also Pepper’s new intern Ned — and Bruce braces himself for the eager recognition he craves and hasn’t had in quite a while . . . only to be given two polite smiles, but that’s it.

He blinks.

(so do Tony and Pepper, though he never realizes they are just as taken aback)

Not only is there no awe or excitement at meeting The Doctor Bruce Banner, there are no questions — and it clearly has nothing to do with either boy being shy. And that’s the thing that Bruce really doesn’t understand: they are completely . . . unimpressed . . . with him. There isn’t any fear or apprehension of the Hulk, which would at least make sense of their lack of excitement. Nonplussed, he decides to go ahead and take care of the reason he originally came down (all right, yes, he’s showing off, too; maybe that will spark some interest from these kids) and gets Tony’s opinion on his idea, noticing the curious look on Peter’s face with growing anticipation. But the young man makes no effort to join the conversation or offer his thoughts, so Bruce clears his throat and says, “What about you, Peter? What do you th—”

The sound of the lab doors opening again stops him mid-word and all five of them turn to see who the newcomer is. Bruce relaxes when he recognizes James Rhodes, while Tony crows in glee and leaps up to give the man an excited hug before yanking him to the couch and introducing him to Peter and Ned for what’s apparently the first time.

And Bruce Banner’s ego takes a brutal, shocking hit when both boys literally fall off the couch in their eagerness to meet Rhodes properly. Ned is babbling so fast, it’s like he’s changed languages, and Peter is caught between translating for his friend and bombarding Rhodes with his own questions, while Tony and Pepper are watching with fond, indulgent smiles.

This is the reaction Bruce was expecting and should have gotten and he just stands there, being utterly ignored and even more baffled at what’s happening. He has nothing whatsoever against Rhodes, of course, but the man is career military. Bruce is The Leading Expert in five different areas of biology and two in chemistry, and both teenagers attend a STEM school. By rights, they should be ignoring Rhodes and overwhelming Bruce with their questions and enthusiasm.

And yet.

He might as well be a wax figurine for all the attention he’s getting. The worst part is that there is no malicious intent, but it is deliberate. For these boys, meeting James Rhodes is a hell of a lot better and more exciting than meeting Bruce Banner, and he . . . for the first time in a very long time, Bruce feels rejected for all the wrong reasons. He knows it’s egotistical of him to expect instant veneration and adoration and awe-inspired respect from the teenagers.

He really does know that.

And yet.

When the gushing and endless questions and gradually-becoming-coherent rambling for Rhodes hits the fifteen-minute mark without either teen giving Bruce so much as a glance, he bows to the inevitable and quietly leaves. He’s hurt and more than a little put-out at the lack of reception and everything that should have gone with it, but he’s an adult, dammit. He has no right to feel like this, but he does. So he’ll go sulk in his room for a while and absorb it until he can face the world with equanimity.

He has no idea that his world is about to turned upside yet again because FRIDAY is extremely protective of her creator, his mentee/protégé/basically-adopted-son, and both of their best friends.

She is also extremely salty about Bruce’s attitude, behavior, and actions toward Tony. She knows how badly he hurt the man after AIM and Killian, and she is intimately aware of how much damage his deflection, flat-out lies, and cowardice during the ULTRON clusterfuck (she had spent a lot of time with Uncle Rhodey while Boss was recovering after Siberia) had caused Tony. Her anger can’t accurately be expressed at his snide and unwarranted know-it-all attitude when he returns from his two-year hiatus; only Tony’s explicit instructions that she is never allowed to fatally harm any of his teammates kept her from fragging him when he displayed the unmitigated gall to lecture Tony for being upset about the betrayal of literally every other member of the team Bruce abandoned like the coward he is — because he himself could not handle the unintended but horrific outcome of his own actions.

His hypocrisy would make her sick, were she human.

However, she has also correctly surmised why he is so upset about Peter and Ned’s reaction — or rather, their lack thereof — to him, especially when compared to the way they had responded to Rhodes.

Were she human, she would have cackled with purely vindictive glee and rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

So when Tony, who is just as confused as Bruce, voices the question, FRIDAY pays close attention to the answer . . . and when the two boys have finished explaining and Tony has simply shaken his head and said, “Right. Okay. Makes total sense, in a Twilight Zone kinda way . . . but honestly, now that you’ve pointed it out, I can’t say you’re wrong. And, of course, my Platypus is fuckin’ amazing.” And that was that. Two quick hair ruffles later and all three of them are absorbed in the project they’d been working on prior to all the interruptions.

FRIDAY giggles to herself with a delight that is positively malevolent.

Then she takes it upon herself to play the entirety of that conversation for Bruce. After all, the man deserves to know the truth about himself, since he’s clearly lacking the necessary self-awareness. And hearing about the accolades and achievements of someone he considers — well, beneath him, at least academically — certainly can’t hurt.

Much.

If she recorded his reactions to hearing those truths, well . . . she is Tony Stark’s daughter.

Of course she did.

If Bruce is so stunned and ashamed at hearing the unguarded, raw, unfiltered thoughts and opinions of two brilliant teenage boys that he promptly flees the state for four months, well . . . he is Bruce Banner.

Of course he does.

~~~

After about fifteen minutes of watching Ned and Peter fawn and gush over Rhodey, Bruce mutters something that might have been ‘goodbye’ and beats a hasty retreat. Not long after that, Rhodes manages to pull Tony into the private, official meeting he’d come for in the first place, and then he had to leave as well, accompanied by both Pepper and much fanfare and more gushing from Ned and Peter. And so it is that Tony finds himself back in his lab less than an hour from Rhodes’ initial arrival, watching his kid and his kid’s best friend gesture frantically at each other while babbling just as frantically about how they’d both knocked something off their bucket lists by meeting The James Rhodes, OMG!!!, and how this was the second best day of Ned’s life.

Wait.

What?

Nonplussed, Tony blinks. This doesn’t help, so he blinks again, because he’s only just registered Ned and Peter’s complete . . . disinterest . . . in Bruce, which — well, makes no sense. The man is brilliant and both teenagers have a strong interest in his particular fields. When the second blink still doesn’t help, he blows out a deep breath and catches Ned’s eye, feeling proud when the young man instantly stops talking and gives Tony his full attention, as does Peter a few seconds later. “I’m confused,” he says frankly, earning himself his own set of bewildered blinks.

“Here you are, two boys in the top STEM school in the state . . . which means, by rights, you should have literally been over the moon about meeting Bruce Banner . . . and yet, you are so unimpressed that neither of you asked a single question . . . and then you’re fawning over Rhodey like a Mean Girl backstage at a Taylor Swift concert. And Rhodey is awesome in every possible way, don’t get me wrong, but still: you ignored Bruce Banner to fanboy over James Rhodes. I just . . . you have to admit, that doesn’t make sense,” he explains, feeling inexplicably awkward.

Ned’s mischievous grin surprises him even more, and then the kid explains and Tony just — gives up. He throws in the white towel, he surrenders, he’s chanting ‘mea culpa’.

He’s forgotten what it was like to have his worldview flipped upside down.

“Well, it’s like this, Mr. Stark,” Ned begins, straightening in his beanbag chair. “Yeah, Dr. Banner is smart. So are Reed Richards and Norman Osborn and Otto Octavius. So was Johann Schmidt, for that matter. And then there’s, you know, you. But that’s all he’s got.”

. . . wait, what?

Even as he opens his mouth to say — well, something, though God only knows what — Ned barrels over him with the ease of long practice that comes from being Peter Parker’s best friend. “Think about it. Yeah, he’s got seven PhDs. But you have three, and three Masters as well, and — what, five or six Bachelor’s? The only reason you don’t have, like, twelve doctorates is because you don’t want them — and because you don’t need them. You do things with your knowledge and experience. You build things, you create new, revolutionary products, you rewrite the laws of physics when they annoy you . . . and I’m not talking about Iron Man. I’m talking about Tony Stark, genius engineer and inventor. If you don’t know something, you learn it, and then you apply it to whatever you’re making or whatever idea you had.”

He pauses to suck in a breath, eyeing Tony’s face with the not-really-unjustified mild concern of a teenager worried he’s about to shock the older adult into having a stroke, and Peter laughs softly before picking up Ned’s train of thought.

“Basically, Tony, Bruce Banner is a professional student,” he sums up. “He was even before the Hulk. He’s too afraid of himself and whatever nebulous bad thing might, maybe, possibly, happen if he tries to do anything. He won’t take risks and he won’t try anything new, so he has very few actual accomplishments to his name. He does research and writes papers about it. That’s it. When he hits the point where research has to give way to experimentation or application, he stops and gets another doctorate in a related field and restarts the process: knowledge and papers, but nothing live or practical. Yeah, a lot of his research is groundbreaking, but it’s still useless until it’s applied, and he refuses to do that. He doesn’t create new things. He very rarely experiments with existing things — and the one time he did, it was that stupid serum. Oh, that’s exciting and never been tried before,” he observes more than a little sarcastically, and Tony blinks again.

Which, given the fact that Peter gotten his powers by way of a spider experimented on and given, among other things, the super soldier serum, Tony has to concede this is a fair summation. Surprising, yes. But fair. He gives his kid an approving smile, one that makes him blush just a little, before he continues upending several people’s assumptions and/or worldviews.

“But — and here’s the thing that so many people ignore or just don’t want to think about — he wasn’t analyzing it so he could help cure or eradicate diseases, or create vaccines, or even maybe work with malformed limbs or people who can’t build muscle, stuff like that,” Peter expounds, with Ned nodding in vigorous agreement. “There are so many other possibilities and if he’d explored any of them . . . that would have been amazing and the best reason to do that research, especially if any of it worked. But that’s not what he did.”

He pauses, his face darkening, and Tony blinks when Ned’s expression goes grimly disapproving as well.

Wha—

“He used himself as an illegal test subject because he wanted to be a super soldier. The pacifist who hates all weapons and fighting wanted to become the ultimate weapon. And yes, it’s because his father was abusive and he felt powerless as a kid. I get that,” Peter says, voice thick with contempt. “But his father had been dead for at least a decade, and so had his mother. There was no legitimate reason for him to become indestructible, other than his bruised ego — because he wanted to prove to everybody that he was the best and the smartest, the one who figured the serum out first and created a successful version. You have to really pay attention to that paper and look hard,” Peter tells Tony, correctly identifying his confused expression, and then develops the thought.

“But it’s there: a huge part of his interest and research and work on the serum was ego. He doesn’t seem to have any friends or respect for his fellow scientists, at least in that field, because there are only two mentions of anyone but Erskine, and he said straight up that he was tired of being dismissed or constantly double-checked. And when his ill-advised experiment blew up in his face, it crushed his ego and destroyed his confidence, because he didn’t have anything else to his name, application-wise. The very first thing he focused on was an impossibility that’s stumped scientists for going on eighty years.”

Once again, Tony blinks.

Because that . . . that isn’t wrong, either. He hasn’t dug all that deeply into Bruce’s research because biology really isn’t his thing (Extremis notwithstanding) and he’s never cared about the serum itself one way or the other, but because he does have his own justifiable ego — and has too often been falsely accused and assumed of having one much worse — he remembers noticing some of what Peter just said, so his interpretation of Bruce’s motives doesn’t quite surprise him, nor does it ring false.

Not now, at least.

Ned bumps Peter’s shoulder and seamlessly continues this fascinating train of thought. Scornfully, he says, “Of course, Ross going crazy made everything exponentially worse, which seems to be his specialty, but this is where the pacifist did the most damage, along with the lack of any real-world experience. Banner was indestructible, whether he was himself or the Hulk. Literally. So why didn’t he go to Ross’ house one night, dangle him by his neck, and inform him that he could either leave Banner alone or lose a limb, then break a few bones to show he was serious? Ross is a giant bully, yeah, but he’s an even bigger coward. Knowing that Banner was serious about taking him out if he kept pushing would probably have made him back off. Instead, he ran. And because he had alienated everyone who was in a position to help, or might have wanted to, he had to completely disappear. But once he did, did he take the time to experiment with the Hulk and learn how to control him or work with him or figure out anything about his new alter-ego? No! He’s so afraid of himself that he literally went years pretending the Hulk didn’t exist. Because that’s smart and makes any sense.”

The sarcasm is blistering, and so is the contempt.

It’s also . . . well, it’s warranted, and they’ve made another very good point, Tony acknowledges with a faint wince. There’s more to it than that, of course, but that’s information the boys don’t have. Though even taking that into account, he can’t say they’re wrong in their overall assessment.

“Of course, SHIELD being the huge jerks they were, they kept tabs on him and tricked him into doing to their dirty work when Loki first showed up,” Peter almost growls, startling Tony a little. “But even then, after everything he did to make himself invincible — and succeeding — and after years of living with nothing but his fear instead of learning and growing, he was still arrogant, still egotistical, and still a useless pacifist. He didn’t ask for you or anyone else to help him, even when he knew he couldn’t do it alone; he let Fury do it. He didn’t defend you when Rogers mouthed off, or even try to refute him. He didn’t have a single recommendation for a possible strategy beyond SHIELD’s standard plan of ‘bomb’ because he hates violence more than he hates resolving it or even trying to head it off. And, because of his refusal to discover anything about his own experiment, even though he actually got what he wanted, just not the way he wanted, he was absolutely useless in a tense, but still controlled, environment. I mean, Tony, you were the only person not worried about the Hulk! FRIDAY showed us the footage,” he hastily explains when he notices Tony’s dumbfounded expression at how in the hell they can possibly know any of this.

That simple clarification provided, Peter returns to his point. “And then, and then it’s over and yay, you won, not them, and everyone scatters for a while, and you, being the awesome, generous man you are, invite him here and give him his own lab and resources. And what has he done on his own? Not a co-credit or co-author of any papers, not part of a shared patent, but something that’s completely his own work? And if we’re gonna mention the papers, all but — what, two? Three? — are sole authorship. Then, after he screwed you over during and after ULTRON, he disappeared again, leaving you holding the bag, only to come back two freaking years later . . . after Maximoff is dead and the rest of the ‘team’ is in prison,” he spits, eye blazing with fury on Tony’s behalf.

“Once there wasn’t any possibility of friction or infighting, he shows up, without even bothering to apologize for screwing you over because ‘the Big Guy needed to leave’, and somehow, that’s enough. He didn’t trust you to protect him or have his back, because he knew he didn’t deserve it because he’s never had yours. And he uses the Hulk as the ultimate excuse and justification, because he knows people are too afraid of ‘that mean green rage monster’ to argue.” His anger is startling and Tony has to forcibly smother his need to hug his kid. Now is not the time.

Oblivious to his mild dilemma, his kid keeps talking.

“But, the thing is, in the middle of all that bullshit, he keeps researching and writing papers. God, Tony! He won’t get an MD in medicine, because then he’d be legally responsible for someone’s life and if things went wrong, he couldn’t blame someone else or brush it aside and justify it as ‘I was just an innocent bystander trying to help’. No,” his kid sneers, breathing hard as Tony gnaws his lip, still unable to refute any of this. “At the end of the day, Bruce Banner is nothing but an arrogant, egotistical coward and a walking, talking library.”

Peter finally stops, giving Tony an expectant look, one mirrored by Ned and tinged with uncertainty, and he sighs, bowing his head in rueful acknowledgement of that well-made point. All the well-made points. Because everything they just said, everything they’ve explained, is nothing but truth. Painful truths, viewed through the lens of people still mostly-untouched by adult cynicism, but still: every word is true, even if the boys are lacking some pertinent information that might — but probably wouldn’t, he admits with a flash of wry humor and parental pride — change their mind, or at least soften some of their scorn.

Although, in all honesty, he doesn’t feel the need or even have the desire to share that information with them. Maybe later, but not . . . not right now.

Satisfied that they’ve sufficiently explained their disdain for Bruce Banner, Ned’s earlier enthusiasm bubbles back up and he almost squeaks when he says, “Colonel Rhodes, though . . . he’s just awesome. And that’s got nothing to do with War Machine. That’s amazing, too, but it only exists because of you and Iron Man. On his own, he could never have conceived the idea, much less brought it to life.”

The goofy look on Peter’s face almost makes Tony chortle, but he’s still befuddled enough to ignore the adorableness of his kid and instead listens even more closely to an explanation that, again, makes a disturbing amount of sense.

“But that’s just the suit, see,” Ned continues, bouncing a little on his beanbag. “Nobody but you can be Iron Man and that’s one of the reasons you’re the best. War Machine, though . . . not everyone can pilot it, but he isn’t the only one, so that’s awesome but not his idea or invention or something unique to him. But as himself, as a civilian, James Rhodes went from the poorest, worst school district in Pennsylvania to MIT on a full academic scholarship and graduated cum laude. He only missed being magna cum laude by .0925 points — and despite his friendship with you, he did that all on his own,” the kid says almost reverently.

“He didn’t need to trade on his connections; he did the work and earned the accolades by himself. For his doctoral project, he designed a brand-new engine specific to the Air Force fighter planes and it’s so efficient and so well-designed, it’s still being used today. He’s an actual rocket scientist! Then he joined the military and became the fifth youngest officer promoted to the rank of full bird colonel in the history of the Air Force. He’s co-chaired more than a dozen engineering projects, both with the military and for the civilian sector, and none of those projects have failed, though a few of them were scrapped for lack of funding or because of corporate or military stupidity. Everything about Colonel Rhodes is amazing and he’s one of the most inspirational men alive.”

Stunned into actual silence, Tony stares at these two fucking astonishing young men, in awe of their maturity and their unique, but so very precious, way of looking at the world.

Because the thing is, they aren’t wrong. Not in the slightest.

Bruce is brilliant. He really, truly is. But he’s also afraid — no, he’s terrified — of the ‘what if?’ and refuses to do anything serious with that brilliance.

‘I’m not that kind of doctor’.

‘I’m not comfortable with that potential application’.

‘I’m afraid it can’t be controlled’.

‘It’s not really my area of expertise, but it sounds very risky’.

‘I can’t guarantee the results or the outcome.’

‘I don’t/I can’t/I won’t/’I’m afraid’.

Whereas Rhodey, his Platypus, is afraid of nothing. Cautious, sure, mostly within reason — he is Tony’s best friend of three decades; a certain amount of disdain for the rules is to be expected, because you can’t expand your limits until you test them, and you can’t make or break records until you try, naysayers be damned — and a little too pedantic for Tony’s tastes, though it’s a natural consequence of being career military. But if he sees or thinks of a potential good idea or experiment, he’s right there, either helping or creating (or, occasionally, recruiting Tony for the fine, finicky work. And probably rubbing Tony’s abilities into some asshole’s face while he’s at it, because his Honeybear is an excellent multi-tasker and also has some deep-seeded anger and vindictiveness that are a direct result of his exposure to Howard’s concept of parenting). And, as Ned so succinctly pointed out, none of that has anything to do with being War Machine; that is strictly James Rupert Rhodes.

So yeah. Yeah, he can absolutely see their point — and he wholeheartedly agrees, now that his perspective has both shifted and been widened.

And if he somewhat savagely hopes that Bruce stuck around and heard Ned and Peter, well . . . yes. Yes, he does. He likes Bruce, but . . . well, no. No, he doesn’t. He wants to like Bruce. But the man is a coward and is also frequently a really shitty person. Not that Tony’s a saint, but he’s never fallen asleep when a friend was pouring his heart out. He’s never straight-up lied and thrown that same friend and co-collaborator under the bus to save his own skin — and he’s never disappeared for two years to avoid not just the consequences of his own actions, but also the confrontation that would have happened over Maximoff, leaving the man he’d already thrown under the bus to shoulder all of that blame, too.

Tony has never returned after said two-year cowardly disappearance because he misses money and indoor plumbing and decent food and clean clothes that are comprised of more than three outfits. Nor has he lectured the man he’s asking to provide him with those things, the man he’d abandoned and hung out to dry — and he sure as hell hasn’t done it without knowing a single thing about the situation but somehow believing he has the right to chide Tony about how petty and childish he’s being despite not being within three continents of any of the people involved, the people who betrayed him, at any time during the aforementioned two years.

And that doesn’t take into account the condescending arrogance Bruce tends to display when Tony needs or wants his opinions about stuff related to biology (since he met Peter, Tony’s chemistry knowledge and skills have skyrocketed). The man still doesn’t understand how Tony’s mind works, and he sure as hell doesn’t comprehend his genius. Bruce honestly has no idea that if Tony wanted to, he could earn a doctorate in both chemistry and biology in, at most, a month. He hasn’t done it because Bruce is there and available, and one of Tony’s mottos is ‘work smarter, not harder’. But now that a few things he’s been ignoring or just didn’t grasp the true implications of are staring him in the face, he can clearly see the arrogance and ego in Bruce that so many people subscribe to him.

And, yeah, sure, he’s got an ego. He knows how intelligent he is and he knows his limits — of which there are very, very few. Unlike Bruce, his specialties aren’t restricted to two fields and their admittedly-myriad subfields, and he knows that despite the other man’s thoughts, Tony could quite easily outstrip him in both knowledge and application in less than a year, should he be so inclined.

After this? Given Peter’s gifts and interests in biology and chemistry, Tony has the distinct feeling he’s about to become so inclined. Even if his kid is — or rather, becomes — interested in the idea, he suddenly isn’t sure he wants to let Bruce mentor him. It isn’t the arrogance that bothers him — hello, he’s Tony Stark — but now he can clearly see the expectations of adoration and unthinking respect and the unquestioning acknowledgement that Bruce is the only expert who counts when it comes to his particular areas of expertise.

Tony is not okay with that, and not just because it reminds him way too much of Rogers’ attitude and expectations.

See, the only way to grow as a scientist — hell, the only way to grow at all — is by questioning and pushing boundaries and stretching limits. And now that he’s been forced to think about it, he’s remembering how often his frequent off-the-wall questions merit a sneer before he’s told that defying and/or rewriting the laws of physics isn’t possible or a good idea. He’s just ignored it because Bruce’s not-answers and snooty explanations usually end up telling him what he needs to know and then he does quite easily defy and/or rewrite the laws of physics, because he’s never let ‘impossible’ stop him.

But he’s a grown man, with the experience not just of the life of a celebrity genius, but also one of bitter jealousy, deeply personal betrayal, insidious resentment, and too many people trying to hold him back because they can’t bear to see him succeed . . . and even with all that experience, he still finds himself falling prey to the negative emotions and doubting himself when he shouldn’t.

Peter is just a teenager. A brilliant teenager, and a superhero vigilante to boot, but still: he doesn’t have anywhere near the defenses that Tony’s cultivated and he probably never will. His personality is just too open and honest and forthright to develop Tony’s coping methods. Which . . . is for the best, really. Not all of Tony’s problem-solving solutions are bad, but Peter isn’t him; he needs to find and establish his own ways of dealing with things. And since Tony is now painfully aware of how . . . toxic . . . Bruce has the potential to be, he doesn’t want his unprotected, unprepared kid anywhere near that. Or Ned. They deserve better.

So yeah: Tony does hope Bruce listened to this unflinchingly true roast of his character; maybe that will give him the kick in the ass he needs to mature and start acting like the grown adult he purports himself to be.

He really, truly hopes that’s the case.

But he isn’t holding his breath.

(when he learns that Bruce has vanished again, he isn’t surprised, or hurt, or even upset. He just sighs and has FRIDAY pull up the MIT course materials for a degree in chemistry, and once he’s earned his metaphorical bachelor’s, he brings Peter and Ned in and starts teaching them while he himself moves up to the next level. Both kids learn quickly and by the time their senior year starts, they’ve gotten through the first two years of material.

Like father, like sons)

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Dark Mirror

Among his family, friends, and peers, Peter Parker was known for his unnerving unflappability. There were two exceptions to this; one was when his Aunt May truly, genuinely freaked out. Her emotional outbursts always triggered a matching one from him, but the sheer amount of feelings that were expressed always meant those outbursts were quick — loud and frequently punctuated with tears and the occasional Italian ancestral curse, but quick. Even her hysterical fury at discovering Spiderman only lasted about twenty (explosive) minutes.

Other than those rare ‘May flipping out’ occasions, though, Peter was as calm as glass. Bored into a coma at school? He was in exalted company. Flash Thompson making his life miserable just because he liked it? Minor problem. Obnoxious teachers and willfully oblivious staff? Annoying, but whatever. Muggers, carjackers, pickpockets, bank robbers? Your standard Tuesday.

Sexual assault?

Well.

That was the other exception — and it was one Peter took very deeply to heart.

As Tony Stark discovered to his shock one innocuous afternoon . . . his shock, his disbelief, and his deep, unmitigated pride.

He, Peter, and Ned Leeds had been heading to Tony’s car, parked three blocks away from Midtown to avoid the crowd and their unwanted attention, when Ned suddenly turned grey and stopped dead in his tracks, pupils blowing wide as his terrified eyes fixed on a man wal—no, he was sauntering in the trio’s direction. His hair was a vivid white blonde that was clearly a dye job and his eyes were the same shade of blue as Steve Rogers’. He was good-looking, Tony supposed, but the smirk twisting those weirdly-pink lips killed a lot of the attractiveness and the slime that was oozing from every pore was definitely off-putting.

But that didn’t even begin to explain why Ned was reacting so badly.

Even as the thought formed, Peter gently but firmly moved his friend behind Tony, giving his mentor a hard look that startled him, and not just because it was completely unexpected and lacking context. But the command in that unnaturally dark gaze was unmistakably ‘protect him’ and Tony just . . . did not know what to make of that, it was so astonishing and even more out of character.

Then Peter stalked forward, his entire body radiating fury, and Tony watched, jaw scraping the ground, as his sweet, good-natured, easy-going, too-forgiving-for-his-own-good son balled his right hand in a fist and hit the approaching man so hard, Tony heard bone break from twenty yards away.

Shockingly, the blow didn’t knock him out and Tony’s mouth dropped open again when his kid dropped to a crouch, grabbed a fistful of jacket, and yanked the man up so their faces were bare inches apart.

“You’re supposed to be in prison for the next sixteen years, Westcott,” Peter snarled, the air around them sparking with his fury. “You’re also forbidden from being within two miles of any school and you aren’t allowed to be in the same city as Ned until you die. We were also supposed to be notified if the world ended and a braindead judge granted you parole.”

His stunned mind needed a minute to process that, so Tony missed the blonde’s smirk . . . but he sure as hell heard the reply.

“I’m not out on parole, smartass. Those restrictions don’t apply. I was released early due to good behavior, so I can mostly go where I want,” he sneered, giving Peter a hateful, triumphant smile when he flinched. “Being registered as a sex offender is causing me some problems, though, which is why I need to talk to Tesla, there. He needs to issue a statement retracting his accusation, so I can get my life back.”

. . . no.

NO.

No, that hadn’t happened. It couldn’t have. Not to Ned. Not to that sweet, shy, genius kid who, despite a year of acquaintance, still stuttered every time he first started talking to Tony (and Rhodey, and Pepper, which was hilarious to watch). He didn’t . . . he couldn’t have . . . no. No. Tony refused to allow it.

But even as his mind tried to violently reject this new reality, things began to line up: Ned’s wariness of grown men in a position of authority, especially those he knew nothing about. His mother and grandmother’s extreme reluctance to allow him to visit the Tower. Their hourly check-ins, something Ned didn’t mind in the slightest, and their equally firm insistence on picking him up themselves instead of allowing one of Tony’s drivers to take him home, or even Tony himself, and God help anyone who suggested the subway.

Ned’s habit of standing as close as possible to an open door — or an escape path — on those rare occasions he was alone with Tony. The way he flinched and tensed up when a door was closed, especially too hard or too loudly. His quiet, subtle insistence on locking Peter’s door on the two sleepovers the pair had done. His gleeful enjoyment when Tony called him ‘Ted’, but his instant withdrawal when Tony started rambling about Tesla one afternoon, alternately extolling the man’s virtues and cursing his eccentricity. This even explained Ned's somewhat puzzling choice to be noticeably overweight: if he wasn't lean or slim or lithe, the way he was naturally built, he'd be less attractive to predators.

It all made sickening, hideous sense, and Peter clearly knew about it as well . . . which explained his protective fury when anyone tried to bully Ned, especially boys, and his willingness to get in their male teachers’ faces when they started getting too aggressive with the young man.

How many of Peter’s detentions been because he was protecting his best friend, his Guy in the Chair?

But then, he was one of the five people Peter would kill for, something Tony genuinely hadn't believed was possible . . . until Skip Westcott committed his last, fatal crime.

Then Peter growled, “Like hell!” and hit the bastard again, using his left hand and breaking his nose this time, and pride threatened to overwhelm Tony. But when he felt Ned huddle into his back, chest hitching with sobs and shaking so hard his teeth were chattering, his own heart ached for his kid’s pain and fear . . . but it was the muffled, desperate keening Ned was burying into his shoulder that made rage flood every inch of his body. It was so intense that he had to physically brace himself to stay steady, because Ned needed his support — and then the sorry bastard laughed, clearly delighted in spite of the blood dripping down his face and the pain of multiple broken bones. Tony’s protective instincts screamed in response and he summoned a gauntlet with the full intention of killing the fucker.

“Oh, please, Petey. You aren’t going to hurt me,” said fucker slurred, sounding revoltingly sure of himself despite the injuries Peter had already given him. “You don’t have the balls.”

Tony’s vision went black and his arm was perfectly steady when he raised it, repulsor whirring to life.

Peter saw him.

A dark, malevolent smile curved his lips and he yanked hard on the paedophile’s coat, tugging until he also saw Tony, white with rage and armed with deadly, protective fury, and he finally, finally, lost both the smirk and the slimy confidence that had rubbed Tony the wrong way before the destruction of Ned’s world shattered his own.

Oh, God.

Ned.

His desire to kill the bastard clashed with the need to comfort the boy, who was now vibrating from fear, but before he could turn and hug the kid, his kid, and get him away from this piece of shit, Peter spoke.

“I don’t have to hurt you, Skip,” he purred, lips curving in another smile.

Every hair on Tony’s body prickled in instinctive, albeit bewildered, alarm, while Ned sniffled and then, impossibly, relaxed against him. He clearly recognized that as long as Peter was there, he was safe. Plus, he’d finally begun to trust in Tony’s admittedly obsessive need to ensure the few people he loved were okay, not to mention his slowly growing paternal feelings for the bubbly, excitable young man, so despite the fact that he’d just been forced to face his . . . God, his rapist . . . Ned knew he was protected. Because he was.

More importantly, he was one of Tony Stark’s people. And it was a well-known fact that you didn’t mess with Tony’s people. Go after him? Sure, why not? He enjoyed a challenge. But hurt the few people he loved?

Tony had killed much nicer people for much less heinous crimes and his entire being was aching to end this sorry bastard’s ability to steal oxygen from more deserving people, like serial killers and vegans and people who thought Voyager was the best Star Trek series.

He would destroy New York himself before he allowed this piece of shit to give Ned a second look and his entire being was aching to take his specially-designed, high-octane blowtorch to the man’s dick, then his face, then anywhere else he happened to point at.

The only thing stopping him was Peter, because his son had a frustrating, albeit admirable, thing against killing people, no matter their crimes. So while this . . . Skip . . . needed to die, preferably slowly and screaming in agony the entire time, Tony would rather not go against his wishes unless it was absolutely necessary. And that wasn’t taking Ned’s feelings into account, feelings that likely mirrored Peter’s.

“Our dad is going to do it.”

. . . or when he was given express permission.

It took every ounce of control and discipline learned from decades of experience to keep his face blank despite the vicious, triumphant satisfaction roaring through him.

Westcott had neither of those things and his pupils blew black with raw terror as his jaw dropped — well, it tried to. Thanks to Peter, the most it could do was fall open about an inch and at a very awkward, painful-looking angle. “N—no. Yo—he can’t. I have . . . I . . . rights. I have rights. And I was released! You can’t just — you can’t — you just can’t do that!” he stuttered, trying and failing to scuttle away in an attempt to escape the death blazing in Tony’s eyes.

And Peter's.

But this time, it wasn’t Peter who responded.

“You have no rights. You lost them the first time you touched me,” Ned spat, stepping out from behind Tony. His face had regained some color, though it was still tight with fear and probably the lingering shock of seeing his abuser just casually strolling down the street. “But there’s no point in putting you back in prison. You haven’t changed,” he continued, voice gaining strength with every word. Tony’s heart swelled with pride and he laid a gentle hand on his kid’s shoulder, offering his support and showing his approval as Ned reclaimed some of what this bastard had stolen from him. “So I’m going to let To—our dad . . . do whatever he wants, because you deserve it. And when the cops ask, I’m going to be totally shocked. Peter and I were in the LEGO shop, drooling over the new lightsaber until Dad agreed to buy it, or we were at home building a new set while my Iola laughed at us and fed us lumpias.”

He paused and took a single step forward, his eyes never leaving that cold blue gaze so full of shock and disbelief.

And fear.

Glorious, wonderful fear.

“And tonight, I’ll finally sleep soundly, because I’ll know I never have to worry about you again,” Ned rasped, leaning forward just a little and making Skip flinch in response to whatever he saw in his former victim’s face. “I’ll never have to be afraid that you’ll be paroled or just released or even finished serving your original sentence and hunting me down after you get out. You can never hurt me or anyone else again, because you’ll be gone. And I can finally breathe,” he finished, expression positively beatific for just a second as he stepped back to Tony’s side and allowed himself to be pulled into a side hug while he and Peter beamed at each other and Tony smiled above them, unable to believe the strength and fortitude of his sons.

Tony wanted nothing more than to take his boys out for ice cream, but he had a paedophile to kill, so he nodded at Peter before looking at Ned and asking, “You okay going with Happy?”

It was very, very telling that neither teenager made any objection to Tony’s clear intentions, nor showed the slightest sign of hesitation at being alone with a man who wasn’t Tony.

When Peter clipped Westcott’s broken nose with his elbow as he released the now-ruined jacket and let the man crumple in a heap to the sidewalk, Ned barked out a laugh . . . and then shocked Tony out of a year of life when he pivoted sharply and buried himself against his chest, shaking from the force of his emotions and seeking comfort that Tony gladly lavished on him.

For the first time since he was ten years old, Ned Leeds allowed himself to trust an adult man . . . and permanently claimed a piece of that man’s heart.

Tony held his kid, his son, for what seemed like hours, murmuring tender words of support and reassurance, and didn’t even think about letting go until Ned moved first. Not surprisingly, shyness kicked in as the overwhelming emotions began to fade, but he refused to allow it and put a gentle finger under his kid’s chin, tipping his head up so their eyes met.

“You’re mine, Ned,” he told the young man, voice strong and full of conviction. “Forever. Whatever you need, you get. All you ever have to do is ask.”

It wasn’t quite that simple, of course; Ned’s mother and grandmother and sister would have a few things to say (loudly, and with great emphasis, and in two languages), and so would Pepper.

But in that moment, Tony’s sentiment was understood and accepted.

Ned would finally able to move on.

“Make him hurt,” was all he said, eyes burning with a fire Tony recognized all-too-well. He said nothing in response; he just nodded and then released Ned to Peter’s care, watching fondly for a minute as his sons embraced and a kind of peace settled over them.

They both watched with dark satisfaction when he turned his full attention to the walking dead man, who was still sprawled on the sidewalk, blood dripping from his misshapen nose and split lip, one jaw obviously broken.

And smiled.

Westcott wet himself and started frantically blubbering about misunderstandings, interspersed with pleas for mercy and whining that ‘he hadn’t meant to hurt Ned’ as the boys left, headed to the car, while Tony slowly approached him, radiating menace and promising unspeakable pain. The blubbering he could have ignored, but the begging for mercy pushed Tony dangerously close to the edge of his control even as he summoned a suit.

The lies that he’d never intended to hurt Ned shattered the last bit of his restraint and he shot the fucker in the groin with a repulsor set on ‘Taser’, relishing the agonized gurgle that was all Westcott could force out from his broken jaw, before hauling the paedophile who’d been stupid enough to hurt his son to a deserted SI warehouse that was slated to be demolished in two weeks while FRIDAY did some . . . unusual . . . research for him.

Once they were safely sequestered, Tony took immense satisfaction in shooting the bastard in the groin again and felt not a second of guilt at enjoying his choked scream. Then he left the bastard crumpled in a heap on the floor, writhing in agony in his own filth, while he read over the information his darling AI had found before a positively evil smile came to his lips and he started making phone calls.

Five days later, a short article appeared in the New York Times about a body recovered from the river, one so badly mutilated — and missing its genitalia — that it took dental records to identity as Steven Westcott, convicted child molester. He had clearly been beaten to death, among other things, but the NYPD wasn’t exerting any real effort to locate his killer, since two days in the water had washed away any evidence. Also, and perhaps more importantly, his body was littered with crudely carved accusations of ‘rapist’ and ‘pedophile’ and ‘child molester’ and ‘groomer’, all of them made pre-mortem and several of them in very . . . sensitive . . . places. They had also found a tiny thumb drive in his mouth, which contained his recorded confession of every child he had molested.

Naturally, those children and their parents were investigated, but in an unexpected turn of events, every single one of them had been at a conference hosted by Stark Industries, one that boasted dozens of witnesses and lasted the entire three days between Westcott’s disappearance and the discovery of his body.

With no other leads and less motivation, Steven ‘Skip’ Westcott became a cold case, missed by no one and mourned only by his mother.

(When Tony asked Peter about it later, trying to understand not just his demand for the bastard’s death, but his wholehearted and shocking acceptance of it — and at what he thought was Tony’s hand — his son had given him a long, level look and stayed silent for several minutes.

And then he blew his father’s mind.

"Normally, I'd be sick at the thought," the young man — the young hero — quietly began. "But the thing is . . . there were six other kids who came forward; that's why his sentence was so long. Ned and the others . . . they did everything they were supposed to, he went to prison, justice was served — and then, that same ‘justice’ said, ‘Oh, he's been such a good boy, a model prisoner, so obviously his crimes weren't that bad, let’s release him back into society and not even bother to warn the people he hurt’.”

His voice had grown increasingly bitter as he explained and anger was rolling off him in waves. It was a feeling Tony was intimately familiar with and once more, he was thankful he'd been able to locate the other victims and their parents. Westcott had definitely gotten what was coming to him.

And all of his victims finally had a measure of true justice and at least the beginnings of peace.

"And I know that I — that Ned and the others — were supposed to want him back in prison — but why? He clearly didn't change and he sure as hell didn't regret what he did,” Peter continued, breathing hard. “And now we . . . they . . . know that prison isn't the punishment it's supposed to be, because now we know there was no guarantee he’d serve his time. And it wasn’t like we could let him just walk around like he didn't do wh--what he did — that would never be an option. But . . . but prison wasn't safe, either, at least for us. As much as I wish — I couldn't do it myself,” he whispered, looking both ashamed and defiant, and Tony simply gathered him in a hug. “I just don't have it in me, and neither does Ned.  But our dad — YOU — would do whatever it took to protect us and keep us safe."

Well. He sure as hell couldn’t argue that.

“And it’s not like you did it yourself,” his too-perceptive child added from the safety of being tucked against Tony’s chest. “You let his other victims do it, because Ned . . . well, he’s Ned, and — and it was just as much their right. But if they couldn’t or wouldn’t, well . . . like I said, you’re our dad. One way or another, you’d make sure he couldn’t hurt us ever again.”

He couldn’t — wouldn’t — argue that, either)

Edward ‘Ned’ Leeds-Stark thrived. He finally felt like his life could truly begin and he grabbed it with both hands, free from the shadows and chains of his past. He and Peter Parker-Stark took the world by storm with the full support and backing of May, Tony, Pepper, and the Leeds family.

Their first joint project was a change in the way child molesters and sexual predators were prosecuted and imprisoned — and they made damn sure child molesters could never be eligible for parole or early release for any reason, regardless of how young they were. Or how old.

Their solutions changed the world in so many good, positive ways, their families were almost literally bursting with pride.

The future was theirs and they were magnificent. The world trembled with excitement and anticipation.

Like everyone else, it couldn’t wait to see what they did next.

And neither could they.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

What Goes Around, Comes Around

There are certain established constants in the universe: gravity. The Laws of Motion. Politicians are lying liars who lie. Water is wet. The media will choose a sensationalist ‘story’ over the truth every single time, because sensation gets more attention.

You know, immutable truths.

And celebrities like Tony Stark, Jeff Bezos, Bill Gates, every superstar in Hollywood, and music megastars have all suffered the headache of those sensationalist lies. It’s annoying beyond belief, especially since so many people believe that crap even after it’s been definitively proven false, but, sadly, it’s the price they pay for being publically rich and famous.

Then a certain media outlet, one run by a moron whose IQ didn’t reach double digits, went one click-bait too far.

And the media industry as an entity imploded.

Approximately two months earlier, Tony Stark had been spotted at a local gelato shop with a teenage boy. Stark’s instincts being what they were, he’d reacted with the speed of a striking cobra and kept the boy’s face mostly hidden, but the damage itself was done and the media went crazy. Reporters stalked the man like he had the last cache of Dr. Pepper Zero that would ever be sold in the US and so many facial analyses were run on the blurry photo of the teenager that even stay-at-home moms whose primary source of TV was soap operas and Entertainment Tonight were sick of seeing it.

But their irritation was nothing compared the media’s frustration. They hadn’t been stonewalled this hard since Hillary Clinton lost in 2016.

So they were stewing in the pent-up aggravation of thwarted ambition and the guarantee of the juiciest story of the decade dangling juuuuuust out of reach, and each successive day without a word from Tony Stark or a new picture of him with the kid was driving all of them up the wall.

Then, despite his impressive security measures and even more impressive paranoia, a seriously enterprising reporter with the dull, uninspiring name of Amanda Johnson caught the pair on a sidewalk and managed to snap one clear, full-figure photo of Tony holding the mysterious boy tightly against his body, one arm wrapped all the way around his chest and a look on his face that could only be described as ‘deeply exasperated fondness’. The boy’s expression, looking up at Stark, was utter adoration, lightly underscored with chagrin that the vast majority of the public missed.

It was like it was meant to be in its absolute, stunning perfection.

Her triumphant return to the office, brandishing her camera like she was the Oklahoma Sooners’ head coach and it was the College Football National Championship Trophy, caused the expected massive party and earned her a nice raise.

It also marked the beginning of the destruction of her career, her reputation, and, ultimately, her life.

Because her editor, in a fit of sheer spite after yet another ignored — not denied, mind. It was flat-out ignored — request for comment, ordered her to write a very specific article to accompany the long-desired photo. And it must be noted that the reporter neither objected nor refused. The next day, the Holy Grail of Pictures was published.

But the headline took everyone by surprise . . . for about three minutes, maybe four. And then everyone jumped on the bandwagon — first the city, then the state, then much of the country.

The May-December Romance of the Century.

For nine days, every journalist and talk show in the country ran their mouths alongside that picture, speculating on how long Tony had been sleeping with the teenager and did Pepper Potts know — or was it a threesome — with zero response or even acknowledgement from Tony Stark or Stark Industries. In fact, it was complete radio silence, something else that annoyed the media to no end, while simultaneously fueling their relentless need to beat a headline to death, then grab a shovel and dig deeper, until they either finally forced a response or the next huge scandal broke/was manufactured, whichever came first. They did this because they were secure in the knowledge that the worst that would happen was Stark suing their company for an admittedly-large sum of money and/or threatening to destroy someone’s career.

The thing was, none of them were too concerned, because the truth was that their subscriptions and number of paid interviews had quadrupled after publishing that photo and headline, so they weren’t lacking in money. Also, even if Stark was successful in getting one of them fired, they would find employment at another media establishment within a week, because their stock value was an at all-time high after finally getting something on the new Tony Stark, the one who hadn’t had a scandal to his name in two years.

Thus, they felt free to blather on about a completely made-up story, getting more and more creative and cruel and crude and salacious with each day of silence. They couldn’t go any further because there was just the one picture, true, but people loved a hot scandal and juicy gossip, which was enough for the time being. But after Day 6, it started to get old even for them, though most of them would die before admitting this, and instead, they doubled-down on their comments and speculation and tried not to drop into a coma from repetitive dullness.

In other words, the media found itself at a stalemate of its own making for more than a week, something that hadn’t happened in anyone’s living memory . . . until the reporter who started it all just couldn’t help herself and ran her mouth one time too many.

She is filling in for one of the regular night anchors who is out with mono and bantering with the co-anchor when the now-iconic picture of Tony and the teenage boy is put on the monitor.

The man chuckles, gestures at the image, and says, “I know people are getting sick of it, but it’s just too compelling.”

Johnson giggles in response. “I know, Ted! It’s too sweet . . . and so juicy. I mean, it’s well-known that Tony Stark is a playboy who loves to play and doesn’t care who with, but just look at the kid! He certainly isn’t fighting or unhappy. And we all know that it does take two to tango.”

Then the picture of Tony and the teenager is suddenly replaced by one of Johnson being held with comfortable familiarity by a moderately-handsome boy wearing a sports jersey, her back to his chest, his hand just a liiiiitle too close to her breasts. He is looking at her with a deeply intent expression, while she is holding his forearm tightly and her eyes are closed.

The entire studio goes dead quiet. Well, everyone but the two anchors, who continue their sleazy, suggestive comments without noticing the sudden lack of sound and movement around them.

Then the image flickers and when it comes back, it has a caption.

More than a few people look sick once they read it and there is a lot of swallowing and shifting and even a few double-takes.

The Reporter and the Captain of Her Son’s Basketball Team: A Love Story for the Ages.

Ted is snickering at Johnson’s last comment when the unusual silence in the studio finally catches his attention. He sees that literally everyone in the room is staring (or, in several cases, gawking) at the monitor, so he turns back to see what’s got everyone so captivated.

His jaw actually drops open in pure shock when he sees the new image. He might have gurgled, too.

Johnson is a little slower on the uptake, so she doesn’t notice anything is wrong until she sees his dumbfounded reaction.

It takes a minute to really register, but when it finally clicks, her outraged shriek echoes through the room and shatters the eardrums of a decent percentage of her viewing audience. The subsequent, expletive-filled rant is educational, and music teachers all over the country are envious of her lung capacity.

Oddly, no one questions the immediate cessation of the broadcast.

And the studio has never emptied faster than it did that evening, leaving Amanda Johnson with the fading echo of a hideously incriminating picture and an even more suggestive headline, and no one to scream at. She doesn’t even have someone to vent to when she finally gets home, because her husband and son saw the broadcast and, in a complete coincidence, decided that a father-son camping trip was The Thing To Do That Weekend.

Left to her own devices, Johnson decides to fume on Instagram . . . and promptly makes the shocking discovery that people actually believe it. In less than two hours, people she’s known for years now think she’s not only cheating on her husband, but she’s doing it with a teenager. The vile comments from complete strangers she can mostly shrug off, as this is hardly the first time that’s happened, but the comments and speculation from people who should know better are crushing and something she has no clue how to handle.

It’s a million times worse because the photo is real, but taken completely out of context. The boy in the picture was on her son’s team last year, yes, but she had been picking Colin up from practice and tripped coming down the bleachers. Tanner had caught her before she face-planted several feet to the floor and held her upright until she was steady and able to stand on her own.

Her hysterical, furious mind cannot fathom why someone would take a picture of that, much less publish it more than a year later, and despite being a journalist who has seen some of the strangest motives humanity has to offer, she honestly can’t begin to grasp why anyone would lie like this. This kind of accusation is serious. It could ruin her life!

Then she learns that she’s not the only person to suffer this particular assault.

In front of her disbelieving eyes are nine other reporters who had incriminating pictures of them cuddling almost inappropriately with a minor publically posted and paired with equally tantalizing, but also somehow snide, captions or headlines.

To a person, they are all hurt, baffled, and outraged (and very afraid, though they refuse to admit it, because every single images is real) at being so viciously attacked, so cruelly slandered. What kind of horrible, sick person would do such a thing, and to so many people?

The unprovoked attacks continue for the next two days . . . but not the way anyone expected. Instead of continually assaulting the original ten victims, each day brings a fresh batch of people, which puzzles everyone. The victims have nothing at all in common, and whoever is finding these pictures and overriding live broadcasts to show them and publishing them in various newspapers and magazines leaves no trail, so there are no leads or suspects.

Helpless, enraged, isolated from the public, and trapped, the increasing pool of victims form a kind of support group, where they seethe in rage, vent their frustrations, and share their fears. They have all been sidelined, so they can’t even find relief or satisfaction in their work.

The less said about the visits from the police and social workers from CPS, the better.

But that added humiliation and not-so-subtle threat has them seething and they all vow that whoever has done this will pay, and pay dearly. How dare this asshole do something so mean, so damaging, so harmful, to them? How can anyone be so lacking in morals that they think this is okay?!

For three days, they all rant and vent and scheme and plot to destroy the person who is trying to destroy them, their fury righteous and their wrath justified.

Everything changes again on Day Four, thirteen days after the second picture and headline were first published.

Amanda Johnson is building up to a truly epic rant with Katy Dayton when Ryan Dumphries, a frenemy from a rival station, suddenly breaks into their FaceTime chat.

“Turn to NBC!!!” he orders, startling them both. Since that’s all he says, they blink in confusion at each other and obey, sharing another puzzled look . . . and their entire world implodes.

On the screen is Sherry Darnell, badly-dyed blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun that makes her look twenty years older, and wearing big, clunky glasses that add another decade. Her mouth is twisted in a tight, unhappy moue, and her eyes are burning with guilt.

“—fer my unreserved apologies to Tony Stark and his personal intern,” she is saying, and both women freeze.

<<<What?! What’s happening here?>>> Johnson wonders, too stunned to even breathe.

“Without bothering to verify any of it, I was openly complicit in spreading a story about him and his minor intern, a story that was not only false but extremely damaging and insulting and hurtful to both of them and their families.”

Darnell pauses, looks the camera dead-on, and swallows hard as her entire demeanor softens from angry guilt to guilty regret. “But most of all, I’m sorry that it took my own child pointing out the obvious to truly understand what I’d done, the harm I’d caused. I was outraged at the photograph that was published of myself with a male teenager and ranting about how sick and twisted it was to post something that was potentially so personal without permission, and how disgusting they were to add such a salacious, fake headline.” She swallows again, looking down for several seconds, then sniffs and looks steadily at her audience.

“So you can imagine how humbling it was for my teenage daughter to roll her eyes and inform me that since I’d done the exact same thing to Tony Stark — and then kept running the story, because I don’t know when to quit, and neither do my colleagues — was it really surprising that someone finally had enough and decided that suing the paper and demanding a retraction and apology wasn’t working, it was time to make the punishment fit the crime?”

She pauses, eyes filling with tears, and it takes a few minutes before she’s able to continue. “Then she told me that she didn’t feel sorry for me, that she couldn’t, because I brought it on myself — and at least the person in my picture isn’t her. What if whoever did this had used her image to make the point? What if she had to suffer the questions, the insinuations, the harassment, at school, at her job, even from random people on the street, the way that young man doubtless is? Then she looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘If I had done this at school, spread this kind of rumor about a classmate or teacher, you’d ground me for life and make me apologize in a press conference in front of the school, because it’s a despicable thing to do. And guess what, Mom? You did it. It’s time for a press conference.’ And then she walked away and so did my husband, leaving me with no argument and no defense. Because she’s absolutely right. I have done a horrible, unforgivable thing. So, Mr. Stark, I hope you and your intern will accept my sincere, humble apology for the harm I’ve done and the damage I caused and the pain I’ve inflicted. I can’t undo it, but I can and will keep it from going further. As of this moment, I’m resigning from NBC.”

Her speech echoes across the country, striking a myriad of emotions in the heart of every single reporter, editor, newsroom, and talk show that had run the story of Tony Stark screwing his teenage intern without a shred of proof or even a word from anyone to confirm or deny. Every single one of them had published straight-up lies so they could get viewers and subscribers and ratings, secure in the knowledge that the only potential consequence would be an outside settlement and maybe an apology they don’t mean, and their arrogance has finally bitten them in the ass.

For Amanda Johnson, the original instigator, her world is decimated. There are now people who genuinely believe she is a cougar, a child predator, a pedophile, because an anonymous hacker (everyone knows it’s Tony Stark, but his name is never once mentioned out loud) published her crimes for the world to see and gawk at . . . and those same people believe the same awful things about him. Because of her. Because of her relentless need to find a good, juicy story, or make one up if there’s nothing to find, and put her name out there so she would get readers and loyal followers and build a reputation for herself.

Well, she has done that. Decisively. The fact that that reputation isn’t complimentary or career-building is no one’s fault but hers.

Acknowledging that truth breaks something in her soul, because Amanda Johnson is a woman who will die before admitting she’s wrong. But when her husband, son, parents, grandfather, sister, cousins, friends, co-workers, and complete strangers all agree that she deserves every second of this humiliating punishment — in fact, it’s universally agreed that every person, newsroom, news station, newspaper, magazine, and talk show that published and ran her story has it coming — her defiance shatters. She doesn't notice the loss, because it’s buried in the destruction of her life.

An unprecedented, truly surprising number of people are fired after Darnell’s confession and apology, and there are an equally surprising number of resignations as well. Almost none of them remain in journalism or the media world, and those that survive the fallout have stagnant careers. There are more on-screen apologies in one week than there have been since the dawn of television, and the number of both apologies and printed retractions is mind-boggling and probably record-breaking.

Amanda is one of those who is fired, because she cannot bring herself to admit her culpability, her guilt, to anyone but herself, and that lack of integrity tells her superiors she can’t be trusted. Not that they are any better, as many of them discover to their horror, but still: she is the one who set the entire avalanche in motion, so it’s only fitting that she take the brunt of the fallout. Her marriage survives, barely, but her son remains distant for the rest of her life, and she doesn’t get to know her grandchildren.

The worst part is that they don’t think she cheated, which would be understandable, given the circumstances.

Instead, they are sickened that she lied to begin with and appalled that she was so careless and unconcerned about the damage her words would cause. But it’s her refusal to sincerely apologize that kills any remaining trust, and this is a scenario that will also echo across homes throughout the country.

The media industry will never completely recover from the widespread, open disgrace it so eagerly brought on itself; the overall number of viewers and subscribers plummets so hard and so fast, Wall Street genuinely fears it will create a mini-recession. Fortunately, the same people who so greedily devoured the salacious lies they were fed — while roundly condemning the machine that fed them — don’t let such silly things like a lack of journalistic integrity keep them from eagerly reading the next article and avidly devouring the next picture, so the market holds. Barely, but it holds.

Still, the majority of people lose most, if not all, trust in the media, especially the news, which actually forces the news industry to be mostly-honest for the first time in . . . well, ever. The irony escapes too many people to count.

But the final insult, and the most fitting punishment?

Tony Stark, the man who started it all, never says a word. There isn’t a single acknowledgement of any of it from him. No condemnation, no gloating, not even a ‘no comment’.

Still, they all know. They know what they did and what he did and why he did it.

As they huddle in the ruins of their shattered lives, they finally come to understand that no matter how well anyone plays the game, there’s always someone better.

And what goes around, comes around.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Folie à deux

Good things come in threes.

This is not a completely true axiom, but neither is it wrong. Rather, like most of life, it’s a fairly even mix . . . depending on who you ask, of course.

Bad things come in threes.

See the above explanation.

Then, just to throw off any and all statistical numbers and probabilities (and thus, giving statisticians and Vegas bookies a nasty case of hives), one thing happens to three different people. It’s the same event, but not the same end result.

That exact scenario happened to Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, and Tony Stark. And it truly could not have happened to three more deserving people.

As with most life-changing events, it started small: two days after his death, Wanda first heard the ghostly voice of her brother Pietro murmuring to her right around midnight, as she drifted, not quite awake but not yet asleep. His voice full of love, he crooned his encouragement for her to make the most of her new life while also urging her on in her — their — goal of destroying Tony Stark for the crime of killing not just their parents, but also Pietro. The first time she heard that desperately-missed voice whisper, “Sleep well and dream better, Little Sunshine,” she broke down in tears and cried herself to sleep, missing her twin so badly it physically hurt and cursing Tony Stark’s very existence.

Her demeanor the next day vacillated sharply between joy and morose sadness, which confused and disturbed the others, though she refused to explain, so they quickly chalked it up to lingering grief at Pietro’s death and the new, unexpected changes in her life. That reasoning that served her well, so she easily went along with the assumption, while getting more and more eager for night, when she could sleep without questions or concern and once more hear her brother’s voice.

He didn’t come to her every night, but his appearances did increase as time passed and the manifestations lasted a little longer each time. His . . . communication, as it were . . . was at first along the same lines of familial endearments, intermixed with what should have been troubling encouragement to murder Tony Stark but was instead as comforting to her as ‘adored sister’, but one night perhaps a month after his first manifestation, her sleep-addled mind almost convinced her that he said, “It isn’t fair you sleep so well, so untroubled, when you killed me,” instead of wishing her sweet dreams or luck in achieving Stark’s death.

She easily dismissed such ridiculous thoughts; there was no way Pietro would ever say something so horrible to her. So when more than a few times he mentioned the scepter and her culpability in letting Stark take it along with being responsible for his own death, well, clearly she was just hallucinating because of the trauma caused by Stark. Her beloved twin would never accuse her of things she had actually done, especially when her reasons had been so justified.

Somewhere between her deliberate failure to trap a squad of not-HYDRA agents outside their bunker (so they could be questioned) before Romanova destroyed it and the disaster of Lagos, Pietro’s comforting words and tender voice began to be evenly mixed with his heated, angry accusations of causing his death and almost killing herself in the process due to her mind-rape of Stark and her foolish choice to let him take the scepter instead of simply executing him. He came to her at least three times a week, each time angrier and more aggressive and making it difficult for her to find true sleep. It didn’t take long before the dark circles under her eyes were so pronounced that even Steve finally noticed, though he was easily fobbed off with the semi-true excuse that she was troubled by Stark’s continued refusal to apologize or make things up to her.

Between Lagos and Leipzig Airport, the comforting words and loving voice were finally obliterated under the weight of his truthful accusations observations about the crimes she had so willingly, so eagerly, committed . . . because she loved living in the Avengers Compound, its luxuries indescribable, but she also badly missed the HYDRA base, where she could use her powers to their full, malignant extent — which Pietro also commented on, causing her to finally lose her temper and scream a tearful denial. Fortunately, Stark’s soundproofing held and nobody heard her outburst.

But she could no longer blame his words on exhaustion or distraction, because the frequency of his presence increased again, as did his accusations, torturing her at least four nights out of six, and ensuring that even when she did finally sleep, she got no rest . . . and no respite.

Little by little, without anyone truly noticing, or caring, Wanda Maximoff’s grip on reality became dangerously, treacherously, unstable.

Then, the night after the Lagos disaster, in addition to the bitter accusations unfair statements about her own actions, which had replaced Pietro’s loving, reassuring words of comfort, something . . . shifted . . . in her perception of reality.

Or perhaps her dangerous, treacherous, unstable hold on reality was unable to cope with her refusal to acknowledge her clear guilt of her many crimes, and it steadily disintegrated until she was clinging to sanity by very few, even more tenuous, threads.

Either way, the first night she tried to sleep after Rogers soothed her untroubled conscience about the 98 deaths and 317 injuries that were a direct result of her refusal inability to contain the bomb by telling her that it wasn’t her fault so many people were hurt or dead, nor was she responsible for the fact that people were afraid of her and her unstable, reckless, destructive use of power . . . that night, Pietro’s ghostly voice changed to Pietro’s actual ghost.

She was overjoyed . . . for four, maybe five seconds. Because instead of the adoring face and tender voice of her brother comforting her and planning Stark’s death with her, he screamed that her eager alliance with ULTRON, Stark’s world-protecting brainchild, hadn’t just murdered him, her beloved twin. It had also led directly to the situation she was in now: hated and feared in equal measure, with no tolerance, no understanding, and no leniency granted to her, in spite of Steve’s unquestioning protection and Nat’s manipulations and Clint’s emotional adoption of her.

The next night, he tormented her with the truth accusation that she could have handled the bomb just fine, had she chosen to. But she had been very careful to hide the extent of her abilities, and since they hadn’t been there to stop a HYDRA terrorist — and Steve was so frantic to find his friend Bucky that he would do literally whatever took to achieve his goal — she was able to use the confusion to her advantage. Because Steve mistakenly believed that Wanda herself was a misguided and reformed HYRDA dupe, feeding his need to be ‘the hero’, in addition to her powerful mental abilities, which were a huge part of his plans for Barnes, he let her do anything she wanted and justifed everything she did, no matter how bad or damaging, while also being careful not to make her do things she didn’t like.

She hated Tony Stark, so Steve (who had not-very-hidden reasons of his own; she honestly didn’t understand how nobody but Romanova saw it) got rid of him. She didn’t like ‘training’ with Nat or Vision, because what they wanted her to do was dull and boring and just . . . it was designed to make her help people, to save them, and she hated that.

Steve, desperate to keep her happy, told them to stop the training. When they objected, he declared that she already knew everything she needed to and would ask for help if she deemed it necessary.

All of them, even Vision, were unaware that one of the side effects of getting her powers was the ability to both sense strong emotions and also absorb their energy — and her training under HYDRA unveiled the discovery that she not only had a talent for mentally decimating people’s minds, she really enjoyed it. But during the process of honing that skill, she developed an addiction as strong as heroin to the power surges that her victims gave her as she mentally violated them and absorbed their fear and their pain and their regrets and their desperate hope of rescue, things so violently stolen from them by the red mist of cruelty-fed greed and the ever-deepening need for her next fix.

So when she first joined the Avengers, she unexpectedly went cold-turkey because as a ‘hero’, she was expected to help people, not hurt them.

It was little wonder she was so jittery and twitchy: not only was she badly pretending to be a reformed HYDRA agent, a truly repentant hero, she’d also gone from having multiple hits a day to less than three a month.

But when she realized Steve’s intentions for her with regards to his precious Bucky, paired with his penchant of coddling her so he could feel like the big, strong, protective hero he so badly wanted to be and tell himself he was keeping her safe by letting her use her powers and abilities as she wished, she played into his (and Clint) tendency to infantilize her, because they would excuse and justify everything she did, which meant including her in more missions . . . and giving her more potential targets.

Finally, she was able to indulge her desperate hunger to feel people’s terror at her power, their acknowledgement of her superiority, and the fact that she held their lives in her magic- and blood-soaked hands. Granted, Steve’s preferred methods of destruction weren’t as satisfying or as enjoyable as the personal connection that came from mentally shredding minds, but she got a lot more victims at one time and the end results were the same. The massive waves of fear, terror, pain, regret, and lost hope generated by so many innocents were her heroin . . . and subtlety was not an ability she possessed.

Lagos shouldn’t have surprised anyone.

But it made Steve’s bullshit assertion that she couldn’t control other people’s fears, only her own, both hilarious and the perfect excuse — and the best part was that he actually believed it.

She could literally do no wrong in his eyes and hadn’t had to use a single mental manipulation on him to achieve such an amazing goal.

On top of that, even she was unaware of the ticking time bomb that was the danger in using her abilities. HYDRA had unintentionally poured the mental equivalent of the entirety of the Pacific Ocean into a container meant to hold the Philippine Sea, then made no effort to help her expand those shores; they cared only about increasing the size and power of the waves, as it were. So the more she trained and used her ill-gotten powers, the more damage she did to the edges of her mind. It didn’t drive her insane, but it did cause a strong imbalance of her mental and emotional states. Ironically, hiding in the Avengers saved her life: the cessation of the constant training and usage helped her mental barriers stabilize, though that meant the effects were exponentially worse when she did use them on missions.

Pietro knew all of this and relentlessly tormented her, refusing to let her escape her guilt and complicity by sleeping away the truth.

His ghostly manifestations had no pattern, no kind of timing. Wanda developed a deep love/hate relationship with the deep night, because she never knew when her sleep would be interrupted by those horrible, awful, unfair accusations, but she had no idea how to make them stop. Though she wouldn’t have used it had she known; she craved the contact with her twin more than she wanted to pretend she was innocent and had committed no crimes and harmed no people.

Up until Lagos, Pietro’s specter had done her the favor of staying confined to her room, after midnight, and only appearing when she was alone.

After that unmitigated disaster, when she neither felt nor showed any remorse after she came down from the euphoric high she hadn’t experienced since she abandoned ULTRON, that changed, too. And suddenly, apropos of nothing, Wanda would gasp in affront or cry out in protest at thin air, regardless of where she was or who she was with or what time it was or what any of them were doing. The first time she cried, “No! That is not what happened!”, it scared the daylights out of her teammates, but since they were watching Armageddon, everyone chalked it up to denial of Bruce Willis’ character’s death.

Then it happened again, while Wilson was making sandwiches for lunch.

While they were playing Uno.

During their failed book club meeting.

Exiting the elevator.

Her words were frequently spoken in her native tongue, leaving Steve and Sam clueless as well as confused, but Romanova mostly understood . . . though, true to form, she chose to keep this information hidden from her teammates. The reason why the other woman was randomly protesting her innocence or declaring that Stark was the devil incarnate was something Natasha couldn’t begin to figure out, other than ‘slightly-unhinged HYDRA agent’, but she quickly resigned herself to being confused, because the only time she asked Wanda about the random outbursts, she had to duck and run to keep a burst of furious red magic from throwing her into the next room, accompanied by a furious tirade about privacy and personal conversations and being just as arrogant as Stark.

Being primarily focused on her personal well-being — and knowing that Steve would lose his mind if she hurt the brat — Romanova just blinked. ‘Seriously volatile and losing her grip on sanity’ it was, then.

She could certainly work with that; when you got down to it, it wasn’t any worse than dealing with Steve’s narcissism, inferiority complex, and Little Man Syndrome, after all, or Wilson’s destructive habit of enabling the people he’d glommed onto in order to validate his existence and judgement calls. And that wasn’t counting having to babysit Stark. She could handle one petulant, immature woman-child who refused to grow up because Steve (and Clint, though he was retired and gone now) didn’t want her to and also because it suited her to play the ingénue teenager, even though she was in her late twenties.

Suffice to say, it never occurred to the famed Black Widow, the Greatest Spy in the History of Spies the World Over Since Time Began, that maybe the fact that Wanda was a) hallucinating her dead brother and b) he was accusing her of crimes she had, in fact, committed, might be a problem. Instead, she saw it as another way to control the girl, albeit one a little more dangerous than the Widow’s usual marks.

So Romanova continued to ignore the increasingly obvious signs of a mental breakdown while using the outbursts to her advantage by slowly transferring Maximoff’s trust from Steve to her . . . or so she thought. Rogers didn’t have the experience — or the desire — to know what he was hearing and seeing, so he comforted Wanda by telling her that nothing was her fault and even if it was, she was just a kid, so it really wasn’t. Wilson, as badly as he wanted to like her because Steve did, was too wary of her abilities and her extremely mercurial moods to force himself to spend individual time with her; he stayed away as much as he could outside of team training and missions, which meant that he also missed the increasingly obvious signs of a pending mental breakdown, despite his training and experience (such as it was) as a mediator who mistakenly thought he was a genuine, qualified counselor.

Vision, while having access to literally the entire Internet, was too young, too mentally immature, and too emotionally inexperienced to even begin to grasp the implications of what he saw and heard Wanda do. On top of that, he spent little time with Rhodes and less with Tony, meaning his experience with people who were genuine instead of manipulative users was very limited. Combine that with the fact that Steve was the leader of the team, and his word was law now that Tony was gone, and the end result was that the android trusted his team leader’s assurances that everything was fine, Wanda was just working things out and adjusting to having a new kind of family.

So Wanda’s mental state deteriorated more and faster, until it was simply commonplace for the entire team to hear her talking to — or, well, arguing with — herself, in two different languages, about things that were always related in some way to Tony Stark, ULTRON, Pietro, and/or HYDRA, sometimes under her breath, sometimes just like a normal conversation with an invisible person, and sometimes at the top of her lungs. When the latter happened, everyone would give her a wide-eyed look, Steve would offer an empty, meaningless reassurance, and the group would quietly leave the room — all of which had long since been cleared of anything breakable or fragile.

And yet, not a single member of the ‘team’ gave that necessity a second thought.

By the time the Accords were something even Rogers had to acknowledge, Wanda’s lopsided on-again/off-again relationship with reality was well-known to her teammates, and just as routinely ignored. To be sure, Clint was taken more than a little by surprise when she got into a very intense conversation with herself after he ‘rescued’ her from the Compound, but a quick text message to Natasha gave him the information this was a regular thing and nothing to worry about. He wasn’t entirely sure he agreed, but when Wanda’s hands began to glow with red tendrils as her one-person, multiple point-of-view diatribe about how evil Stark was reached critical mass, he made the executive decision to keep his mouth shut. His orders had been to rescue her and take her to Steve, and that was exactly what he was going to do. And hell, for all he knew, Stark had drugged her or some shit to make her go crazy while he illegally detained her.

When she stopped dead in her tracks mid-battle and dropped the carpark she’d been about to hurl at Tony back on the ground in favor of screaming, “No! It’s not my fault! They lied! Stark wasn’t supposed to be that smart or that strong! He murdered our parents and then he killed you but I can’t kill him because he won’t get close enough and his mind is shielded! It’s all his fault! I didn’t do it!!!”, Rogers, Wilson, and Romanova just sighed. Vision blinked, clearly befuddled. Tony, Rhodes, Peter, T’Challa, Barnes, Barton, and Lang froze, staring at the crazed woman with shock and — in Tony’s case — a surge of vindictive satisfaction. It didn’t take a genius of his caliber to see what was happening, but apparently, it took more intelligence than Rogers’ entire team could claim.

What a surprise.

Oddly enough, the astonishment of Team Iron Man seeing Wanda have one of her . . . moments . . . wasn’t as advantageous for Team Cap as one would have thought. This was mostly due to Spiderman, who had seen pretty much everything humanly and spiderly possible while patrolling Queens and as such, was almost impossible to shock, so he recovered his poise within seconds. It helped that, like Tony, he was able to multi-task, so he could process his lingering confusion while swinging/webbing something up/exchanging witty banter, and his status as an unknown entity for Team Cap meant they really weren’t paying attention to him; their wary, hostile gazes strayed between Iron Man, War Machine, and their hysterical teammate.

This time, Peter took no offense at their disregard of him, because that meant while everyone else — literally everyone, because her team had gotten sucked in to the spectacle despite their experience with her outbursts — was gaping at the Scarlet Witch, who was standing in the middle of Leipzig Airport’s tarmac, shrieking at the top of her lungs about how Tony Stark was the source of all evil in the universe and it was his fault her entire family was dead and she should have killed him in the bunker instead of letting him have the scepter and deliberately mentally pushing him to make something that would destroy his entire world along with him, he was proactively taking away Team Cap’s weapons.

He took full advantage of their stupor at watching their teammate finally lose her mind and webbed everyone’s feet to the ground, adding a second layer just to be sure, then used his new Taser web on Clint’s bow and quiver of arrows, rendering them useless, before giving the same treatment to Wilson and his stolen Falcon wings. Then, after taking a minute to study his remaining opponents, he carefully applied a thick layer of (and he quoted, here) ‘triple extra sticky webs, guaranteed to keep a skyscraper upright’ along the entire surface and under-edge of Rogers’ shield, which was haphazardly slung over one shoulder, meaning he would be unable to throw it for at least 30 minutes despite his strength, because it would be super-glued (well, webbed) to his hand.

That done, he also applied the ‘seriously sticky webs’ to the forearms and elbow joints of first the dude in the black cat suit (he was supposedly on Mr. Stark’s side, but Peter recognized the rage in his eyes and knew that he’d turn on them all in a second if it got him whatever he was after), then the Black Widow (who was also allegedly on their side but had been making his spider sense for danger go wild before the crazy woman with the red mist launched it into orbit), essentially gluing their arms to their sides, then took a deep breath and did a double-shot for the guy with the metal arm, using his left hand to wrap one strand around his waist — which would hopefully trap his guns along with the prosthetic arm itself, at least for a few minutes — while his right hand layered several strands across the back of his knees.

He didn’t know how he knew, but this man would realize something had happened and react immediately, thus breaking everyone else’s stupor. The other guy, the one who could change sizes (which would have been so cool under better circumstances), had vanished, but Peter wasn’t too worried. The man’s feet should still be webbed firmly to the tarmac, but even if they weren’t, fighting two people instead of eight was much better odds — especially since now it would be four-on-two instead of a very uneven one-on-one battle, intention-wise.

His supposition about Barnes was proven correct, but his preventative measures held and with all the heavy hitters crippled but Maximoff, Tony’s team was able to finish things quickly. Rhodes shot Romanova with great relish, which made her miss her desperate throw of a Widow Bite at Peter. With her out of play, he studied a rabid T’Challa, who was actually hurting himself in his frantic efforts to get free from Spiderman’s webs, and sighed before shooting him with a mini-shoulder concussive gun. The force slammed the man flat on his back and knocked him out, while Vision clocked a miniscule Lang (who couldn’t move his feet but could still shrink) and smacked him with a beam from the Mind Stone before restraining and tranquilizing all three of them.

Tony took a dark, vindictive satisfaction in blasting Rogers, whose hand was indeed stuck to his shield, in the chest with a repulsor blast from a distance of about five yards. The hit was so powerful it managed to break the webs on his feet and sent the man skidding several yards across the tarmac, destroying his suit and giving him serious road rash, before a second hit, this time in the form of a punch right in that stupidly-perfect mouth from Tony’s gauntleted fist, knocked him (and a few teeth) out.

Seeing his success, Rhodes copied his actions and hit Barnes in the middle of his sternum with a repulsor and got the same result: one super soldier knocked ass-over-teakettle across the ground. However, it took a second shot to keep him down and a third to finally knock him out, leading Rhodes to make the preemptive decision to go ahead and double restrain both him and Rogers on top of giving them a tranquilizer. That was a headache nobody needed.

The whole thing took less than four minutes. The dual super soldier threat neutralized, Tony took even greater satisfaction in throwing most of his arsenal of weapons at the witch with the purpose keeping her furious, crazed attention — and her magic, which meant her hands — on him. He didn’t want to kill her . . . yet . . . but he fully intended to enjoy her fury at her impotence when she was unable to kill or even hurt him.

With her awareness fully centered on Tony, Vision took the chance to see if he could use the Mind Stone to calm her down, while Peter was free to aim at his leisure and successfully hit her hands with five rapid-fire shots, thoroughly binding her. She was so insane with fury that it did take all five hits to restrict her movements and subdue her magic, but Vision’s attempt successfully combined with Peter’s and the second her ability to access her powers was cut off, she dropped like a marionette with its strings cut, unconscious as she crumpled to the ground.

The sudden cessation of violence hit Tony’s team all at once and they silently congregated in the middle of the tarmac, doing a wordless inventory to ensure nobody was badly hurt and taking a few minutes to just breathe and try to process what the hell had happened with regards to Wanda’s crazed outburst. They got no answers, because Team Cap was either unconscious or screaming obscenities at them, but that was fine. She was unconscious, bound, and neutered, so right now, it didn’t matter. With swift, brutal efficiency, the entire group of idiots was properly restrained and — in three pointed instances — gagged, hauled to the jet, and taken back to Vienna.

Because of the massive amount of damage Rogers’ team had caused, not to mention the deaths and injuries, nobody wanted to dick around and drag out the legal process of pressing charges and putting the fools on trial. Tony, who had been swimming in the shark-infested waters of global politics since he was a toddler, had never seen that much easy, international cooperation in his entire life. Jaw hanging open, he watched three people, who less than a month ago had cheerfully tried to kill each other in a knife fight over who would sign a treaty first, sit down at the same table and come to an agreement about charges and which government had primacy without so much as a raised voice, while whole countries who hated each other on general principle acted like they’d been best friends since time began as they agreed on punishments and sentencing.

However, being Tony Stark, he just shrugged and went with it. It said a great deal about his life that this level of international cooperation wasn’t the most startling thing he’d seen this month, though it did make the Top Five.

Plus, he wasn’t stupid enough to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or anywhere else, for that matter.

Then the trials began and it was entertainment for the masses, along with a massive dose of vindictive satisfaction for most people and an equally massive serving of crow for the rest.

During Wanda’s trial, which was third, the descriptor ‘insane’ was omitted from any report on both the witch and her tantrums because two psychiatrists and two psychologists, none of whom knew each other professionally or personally, found her to be fully sane and totally compos mentis. The outbursts, though violent and, from all appearances, teetering on psychotic, weren’t due to any kind of mental illness, including Folie à deux¸ despite their many similarities. Since Pietro was dead, it was actually impossible for her to have developed that particular disorder, to her lawyer’s very mild annoyance. Her great, though well-hidden, relief was carefully ignored.

The unanimous consensus was that the visions of her dead brother were actually a manifestation of her mind’s inability to continue denying her own responsibility and guilt in her numerous crimes, chief among which was the massive part she’d played in her twin’s violent death. It therefore followed that each subsequent incident and death that were a direct result of her actions exponentially increased the mental pressure, which naturally led to ever-more-intense and violent outbursts, and the final, fatal implosion couldn’t be too far off if she continued on her current path.

Rather ironically, her capture and arrest had finally overridden her ability to mentally rewrite her own history, which was why the increasingly unstable manifestations had so abruptly stopped: she was no longer able to pretend she was innocent, not to the world and certainly not to herself.

Then her trial started . . . and the data dump was the gift that kept on giving.

The journals, which she and Pietro had naïvely assumed were truly personal, were used to document not just their lives as two of HYDRA’s favorite assets but their own personal goals and small, intimate details of their lives, details that revealed a disturbing level of enjoyment at living and training in the middle of a busy, active HYDRA base . . . and those details made a great many of the witnesses to the trial nauseous on seeing the self-identified levels of the pair’s depravity.

And giving.

Wanda’s training videos and transcripts, which had been very thoroughly logged and notated, because HYDRA liked their records, were on par with photographs taken of Mengele’s experiments. Three direct descendants of Holocaust survivors had to leave the room after seeing them.

And giving.

The long list of people, from law enforcement to top business executives to high-ranked government officials, that Pietro had abducted both as part of his training and on authorized missions — people who were often given to his sister for interrogation that none of them survived, either mentally or physically — killed what little opposition remained to her execution.

Then it gave a little more, because it was generous like that.

A set of six photographs, captured in black and white, showed Wanda’s face glowing with childish delight that was also dark and malevolent as she saw the man restrained in a simple folding chair, his entire body radiating defeat. He looked so much like Tony Stark that the man himself had to double-check to make sure he was, in fact, standing in the court room. The delight shifted to anticipation and then deepened to rapture, forever caught in a rictus of near-ecstasy as her fingernails, partially hidden behind bright white tendrils of magic, dug grey bloody divots into his cheeks. His eyes were eternally full of raw terror and his face contorted in agonizing pain as she joyfully used her abilities to shred his mind.

More than a few people threw up on seeing the grisly collage.

Then there were the videos and records from the Compound, showing her rabid hatred of Tony and her gleeful, blatant abuse of his generosity . . . and it also revealed the disdainful attitude of the Rogues regarding him, and the hateful way everyone but Vision treated him — and the fact that every single one of them sympathized with Wanda’s claims that Tony had murdered her parents and brother was noted with a mix of grim disapproval and appalled disbelief, despite his multiple attempts to show them evidence that proved otherwise, never mind Wilson’s familiarity with SI’s weapons due to his military service or just plain common sense.

The tide had long since turned against her — against all of them — when the coup de grâce was delivered.

But God has a sense of humor as well as an overwhelming desire for justice, and so it was that by unloading SHIELDRA and their records online for the entire world to see, Romanova and Rogers gave the world one final gift: the undeniable, well-deserved, utter destruction of Wanda Maximoff.

The best part? Tony didn’t have a damn thing to do with it.

At Rogers’ strong urging and despite her court-appointed attorney’s weak objections, Wanda, her magic contained by the twin bands clasped around her wrists and deceptively delicate collar circling her throat, defiantly took the stand on the trial’s last day . . . and Tony got the unexpected, pure joy of watching her world be utterly decimated while he was vindicated in so many ways.

To the surprise of nobody but Steve Rogers, every single question both the defense and the prosecution asked circled back to Tony and how he had deliberately ruined her life by personally coming to her home, dropping the first bomb directly on her parents’ heads and detonating it with his bare hands, and then cruelly, viciously, leaving a second bomb in the hall, taunting her and Pietro with their impending deaths as he left, cackling with glee.

Hearing the depth of her delusions was . . . extremely disturbing . . . and turned even the stomachs of the German and Russian spy masters (hell, it turned Nick Fury’s stomach, and he’d had it removed the year after he became the Director of SHIELD).

Tony just sighed, long since inured to this particular delusion.

Both attorneys gave up on questioning Wanda after the fourth attempt eventually resulted in the same rant about Tony and his murderous ways; it was clear that nobody was going to get anything coherent out of her, though she accidentally incriminated herself and her team a few dozen times, which was worth its weight in gold on seeing her teammates’ frantic attempts to get her to shut up when they realized she was spilling her guts because she had no control and no filter. The fact that she was helping seal their fates was a nice bonus for everyone but them and full advantage was taken to ensure that maximum sentences and the harshest punishments were given.

And then . . . Rogers and Romanova’s last gift to the world, which they had nearly destroyed for no reason other than hubris and selfishness, was presented.

The president of the Accords Panel had apparently a) learned some painful, but invaluable, lessons from the other trials, b) gained the consent of both his Council and the Sokovian delegation, and c) spoken with Vision ahead of time, because once both parties rested their case, the android silently appeared behind Wanda, placed his hands on her temples, and concentrated. The Mind Stone in his forehead glowed fiercely gold for several minutes, but when he released her and stepped back, she was sitting normally in the chair and her eyes were clear. Full of rage and hate and the promise of death, yes, but the fog of fanaticism was gone. He’d managed to return her to a state of comprehension, at least for a little while, and that was all Accords President Viktor Shonski needed.

He looked at her for a very long minute, a look she returned with artificially-restrained fury, clearly debated with himself about whether or not to speak, then sighed and shook his head before he picked up a remote and used it to lower a giant TV screen down the near wall. He gave her a second look, this one even more loaded with meaning, and quietly told her, “After long, intense consultation with the doctors who evaluated you, the unanimous decision was made to hold this back until after both parties had presented their case and rested, because, frankly, this information has exactly zero impact on the scope and nature of the crimes for which this body is prosecuting you. But it is of personal interest to you. And the people who supported and enabled you deserve to know the truth as much as you do. So I am giving you one chance to truly understand the origins of your folly.”

He gave the courtroom a thorough once-over that made several people shift in clear discomfort, understanding too well his ominous meaning; the Rogue Avengers were not among them. His trepidation and resolve were both on full display, something Tony respected, and after perhaps a minute, a deep sigh came from his chest as he turned his full attention to Maximoff again. “Personally, I’m not convinced this is a good idea, but I . . . despite everything,” he told her, holding her gaze without blinking, “in the interest of justice, you deserve a genuine chance to repent and apologize once you know the real truth.”

With no other preamble, not even a word of introduction, he started a video.

The confused courtroom was unnaturally silent in the face of this unusual turn of events, but after about fifteen seconds, words became redundant.

Because on the oversized screen were Wanda’s HYDRA handers: Baron Wolfgang von Strucker and Dr. Johann List. They were discussing her and Pietro’s training, clearly pleased with their progress, and Strucker nodded at List’s comment about their ravenous, irrational hunger for revenge against Tony Stark.

The date was eight days before the Avengers’ first run-in with the twins.

“It’s ironic, you know,” Strucker told the other man. “They are such eager, vicious disciples for HYDRA and yet, have no idea their parents were members of the ‘Freedom for Sokovia’ group, one formed for the sole purpose of opposing us, much less that they’d actually helped develop a program that would have successfully neutralized our local operation for several days and allowed them to mine our databanks. Fortunately, we found them first and since bomb strikes were a common thing at the time, no one questioned the destruction of the entire block and nobody realized the Maximoffs were actually assassinated — along with five others who lived in or near their complex; that area was a nest of enemy operatives because it allowed them to easily meet in plain sight. That’s why it took so long to identify those upper mid-level agents.”

He took a minute to gauge List’s reaction and was gratified to receive a deeply impressed look in response.

“The failure of the second bomb was initially disappointing, though unsurprising, given we were forced to use modified HammerTech weaponry, but it turned into a blessing, since it resulted in two of the most powerful potential assets we’ve had since we found Barnes,” he continued. “And they still don’t know that it wasn’t an SI bomb, much less realize that Tony Stark likely couldn’t identify Sokovia on a map. But like all civilians, they have no clue what a Stark Industries bomb looks like, so they saw the name ‘Stark’, which we stenciled on all Hammer’s junk after repainting it — the illusion of both fear and superiority are often just as effective as the real thing and considerably less expensive—“ he explained in answer to the confusion on his colleague’s face,“—and that was that: Tony Stark killed their parents. They’re so desperate to murder him to ‘avenge’ them, even close to two decades later, they believe anything we tell them. They’re the perfect weapons, especially the girl, provided we can figure out a way to keep her mentally stable enough to use. Her brother isn’t as powerful, but he is sane, and so far, he’s been able to keep her mostly under control.”

After a short pause to allow List to process that and ask for clarification, Strucker sighed regretfully and said, "She’s a lot more powerful than we intended, but because of that, she’s been unable to develop the fine control needed to harness an actual memory wipe, so we can’t risk training her mental interrogation skills on the Winter Soldier — yet. Her brain simply can’t handle the amount of power she has. However, she's getting impressively good at shredding minds. All we have to tell her is the person has information about Stark and she will absolutely destroy their mind to get to it, gathering everything else they know in the process.”

List blinked, looking wary for the first time. "But . . . that's a huge risk! What happens when she doesn't find anything remotely similar to that?"

Strucker laughed again, sounding maniacal and very pleased with himself. "Why, Dr. List, it's because she didn't find everything. She has to ransack every single corner, hidden crevice, and thought bubble. Until she can do that, she'll keep missing information and not finding what she wants to know while Stark becomes more and more powerful. That is literally all the incentive she needs, and the best part is that our reasoning doesn’t have to make sense. All she has to hear is ‘might hurt Tony Stark’ and she’s a bloodhound with rabies, ready to be aimed and released."

List nodded, once more impressed. “That’s an excellent recruiting strategy,” he observed with a sinister smile, one that Strucker returned with interest.

“Indeed. It’s simply delicious that they volunteered to work for the same organization that eliminated their meddling, obstructionist parents so they could get revenge on someone who doesn’t know they exist but is the most dangerous man in the world, and HYDRA’s biggest obstacle.”

That caused a surprised look to come to List’s face and he rather incredulously said, “Stark? I thought it was Steve Rogers.”

Strucker burst out laughing, this time in genuine amusement. “Rogers?” he spluttered, bracing himself against the desk to stay stable while he brought his mirth under control. “Steve Rogers is a moron. He can’t strategize his way out of a paper sack, something we capitalized on many times during our rise in the 40s, and he’s been of significant use in this time as well — his stupidity in exposing and destroying SHIELD with the foolish idea that we could be eradicated so easily being the prime example. On top of that, if he likes or approves of someone at the first meeting, they must be a good person, so they can do anything and he’ll defend and protect them. His favorites can commit murder or treason and he’ll find a way to justify it since he’s Captain America and can do no wrong, and his judgement is therefore infallible.”

He paused again, smirking at the expression of disbelief his colleague now wore, before continuing, that sinister, smug smile back on his face.

“He has no idea how much he personally did to further our cause in World War II, such as destroying bases and bunkers the Allies didn’t know we had already abandoned.”

This statement made List again frown in genuine confusion, so Strucker elaborated.

“As you well know, the best place to hide is in plain sight. Had we destroyed our own hideouts, it would have been a beacon to the Allied armies and resulted in a level of scrutiny we simply didn’t need. By leaking the information in random order to those infernal Howlies, most of whom were actually decent soldiers, we ensured that Rogers would destroy them for us without establishing any patterns. Those leaks had him running all over the country, quite literally, which wasted triple the resources it would have taken, had a competent commander been in charge — while allowing us to know where that unit would be at very specific times, meaning we could run certain ops elsewhere with a strong chance of success. And, because we ensured he would never find a single shred of evidence that would help locate us, he would literally destroy the base with his tantrum, thus denying the Allies access to reinforced bunkers and bases with underground passages, hidden rooms, extra storage . . . in ‘eliminating HYDRA’, as he loved to claim, he actually hurt his own people.”

“Ah,” List murmured, clearly deeply appreciative, and Strucker smirked again before snorting in disdain.

“The truly hilarious thing is that if Rogers found out the truth today, he would still justify his actions because as Captain America, he’s a good man and always does the right thing,” he sneered. “His willful ignorance of the modern world and pathetic need to be the hero is why he destroyed SHIELD the way he did. And in his arrogance, he refused to call Stark in and personally handed us so many victories on a golden platter. He gave us every agent who actively worked against us and each defector, he gave us every secret we didn’t know, and he gave us all the data and plans we needed to guarantee that the world’s future is ours — and he is so stupid, he actually believes he’s the ‘hero who destroyed HYDRA’,” he jeered, face twisted with contempt.

“And once again, we’ve used his hubris against him and leaked ‘potential locations’ (he actually used finger quotes) where Barnes might be, because Rogers learns nothing and even now, he cannot function without his security blanket. He destroys useless buildings for us and we keep him busy on a fool’s errand, making sure none of the Avengers or any leftover remnants of SHIELD get anywhere near us . . . and since he shoved Stark off the team to keep him from learning the truth about his parents, we might as well be invisible, because Rogers can’t find his backside with both hands and a map, never mind us.”

List lost control of his face and openly gawked, to which Strucker nodded. “Exactly. The fact that he’s spent the last year destroying our deliberately abandoned bases for us again has never once occurred to him; as far as he’s concerned, he eliminated us a year ago and nothing and nobody will convince him otherwise.”

This garnered a wide-eyed look of admiration, one he actually preened at for a minute before he continued, his lips twisting in a sneer.

“On top of his arrogant belief in his own stupidity, Rogers is also ridiculously naïve and thinks he’s a good judge of character, so his first impression is the only one he uses, no matter the circumstances or how long he knows someone. That’s a dangerous combination of weaknesses for him, but a gold mine for us. It’s why he doesn’t trust Stark: that egotistical, short-sighted moron Fury gave him a deliberately-designed ‘bad profile’ on Stark when he first woke up and he took it as gospel, because he thinks everyone who isn’t HDYRA is in awe of him and thus, on his side, and Fury played his role perfectly. He wanted an obedient figurehead, so he knew Rogers had to distrust and dislike Stark and he made sure of it — though to be fair to Fury, it didn’t take much effort. Stark is nobody’s fool and does not bow to anyone. His respect has to be earned and that isn't easy to do. But again, the irony is delicious that Fury’s own actions allowed us to finally kill him and caused Rogers set HYDRA up for life. We couldn’t have engineered a better plan if we tried — and we actually had nothing to do with it. It was all a direct result of Fury’s insane need to be the ultimate puppet master and Rogers’ equally insane need to ‘be the hero’.”

List gaped at him for a few minutes as he processed that before he gave Strucker a weak, disbelieving laugh that somehow also conveyed his genuine appreciation for the meaning of the information. “How did I not know this?” he demanded — surprisingly, he didn’t sound upset, just incredulous. Strucker smirked and clapped him on the shoulder as he replied, “Sometimes, it’s wiser and safer to keep dangerous information limited. This is not a reflection on you; I simply possessed the necessary clearance when he was recovered and defrosted.”

An indignant light entered List’s eyes, but it flickered out seconds later and he sighed, nodded, and wordlessly gestured for the other man to continue. A malevolent expression filled Strucker’s face as he obliged.

“Because Rogers is incapable of growing and changing, we can exploit that weakness very easily,” he said, turning to one of the monitors and gesturing to a picture of Pietro. “Since he actually believes his story is one of righteous rags-to-riches because he’s ‘worthy’ and ‘a good person’, he’s extremely susceptible to the ‘woe is me’ mindset. For heaven’s sake, he actually thinks the Black Widow feels guilty about her past, and she’s one of the worst graduates that program ever produced. His own supposed moral code should have made him distrust her, but because she said she was sorry and looked at him with teary eyes and a quivering lip, he believed her,” he sneered, looking utterly disgusted for a minute before it smoothed back to smug satisfaction.

List just gaped, clearly astonished.

“But his unwavering certainty in his so-called abilities will serve us very well. When Pietro is ready, we’ll send him to Rogers with a ‘poor orphaned child who let people experiment on me so I could help my country, please help me escape so I can rescue my twin sister and be a hero’ sob story. It will fell the idiot like a tree, especially if Wanda can play the same part. He won’t question them because the parallels to his own life will garner his sympathy, but they’ll also feed his need to ‘be the hero’. And of course, Stark will object, which will guarantee success, because even if he wasn’t lying to the man, Rogers takes any dissent or challenge as ‘bullying’ and he’ll double-down out of sheer stubbornness. That will give us a foothold in the Avengers . . . and if Wanda is successful in killing Stark, nothing can stop us. It will take us maybe a year to truly begin to implement our plans for world takeover and domination, assuming Pietro’s success; if they both succeed, it will take maybe five months. Once her training is complete, should Pietro somehow manage to fail, it will mostly be a matter of engineering a meeting between her and Stark without arousing his suspicions.”

Now List looked thunderstruck, but he didn’t say anything and Strucker continued, his voice suddenly serious. “Tony Stark, on the other hand, is a genius on every level and utterly ruthless to his enemies. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said he’s the most dangerous man in the world, and incorruptible. That’s why we’ve left him alone and will continue to do so, should this plan fail — which it well might, because the man is famous for his protective measures, and I don’t mean Iron Man. There’s a reason he’s still alive when literally anyone else would have died several times over.”

List nodded wordlessly and Strucker continued his explanation.

“There’s a higher degree of risk than we’re typically comfortable with, but . . . well, Wanda is . . . she’s crazy, but as you yourself have documented, she’s also unbelievably powerful and motivated like nothing we’ve ever seen. Assuming she gets the opportunity, the working theory is that all we need to do is keep her stable long enough to get within eyesight and 400 feet of Stark and she’ll be able to kill him. The effort will also kill her, of course, but in all honesty, that will save us the trouble. She’ll never be a useful, long-term asset, because she’s already teetering on the brink of psychopathy, and the more she trains and expands her abilities, the worse it’s going to get. Still, using her to eliminate Stark without exposing HYDRA’s existence is well worth the risk, with little loss if she fails. And her brother can become a solid, long-term asset . . . assuming he survives her death. They are rather closely-bonded, even for twins. But we still have time.”

Slowly, List nodded again, and the conversation shifted to another recruit.

President Shonski ended the video and met Wanda’s eyes, his own dark with too many emotions to name. The room was dead still and perfectly silent, every eye fixed on the stand-off.

. . . ONE . . .

                              . . . two . . .

                                                                   . . . three . . .

                                                                                                   . . . FouR . . .

                                                                                                                                     . . . fIVe . . .

                                                                                                                                                                                        . . . SIX . . .

A violent mushroom cloud of red mist exploded around Wanda, one that dissipated even as it formed, and her scream of rage, denial, fury, and heartbreak shattered several windows, but Vision and Tony’s combined restraints held and her magic remained safely caged. And after a few intense minutes, full of hard effort, Vision successfully trapped and subdued the destructive power of her emotions as well. She broke down in hysterical sobs, interspersed with incoherent ramblings about how “it wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true, it was all Stark’s fault.”

Her grief at the decimation of the reality she’d invented to justify her choices and her crimes filled the room, nearly suffocating people under the weight of it.

She looked so pathetic, so woebegone, that it actually evoked pity in a few people . . . until she raised her head. Even before her eyes found Tony, they were wild with rage — and then she locked on his face. Hers became a rictus of blind, all-encompassing hate, one so deep that nothing and no one could touch it. Despite finally knowing the truth of her past and her choices, it was blatantly clear that she still blamed Tony Stark for everything that had ever gone wrong in her life, and she confirmed it when she snarled, “I don’t know what witchcraft you’ve done, Stark, but it doesn’t matter. You murdered my family and I will kill you if it’s the last thing I do!”

A thoroughly-unimpressed Tony scoffed in response, though he did blink several times in surprise when she let out a noise that wasn’t anywhere near human before screaming something incomprehensible at him while her hair began to frizz with static electricity and her hands curled into fists as scarlet mist flowed out to cover them . . . only to vanish before it truly formed, pulling another shriek of thwarted rage from her throat. Her eyes were blazing with raw, unfettered hatred, but what sealed her fate was her complete lack of remorse, apology, or even the beginning of acceptance of the truth. Her hate-filled rant and promise of murder told the horrified assembly more clearly than a signed confession that even now, despite finally learning the truth, she was refusing to place the blame for her parents’ deaths where she now knew it belonged, and was just as adamantly refusing to take a single morsel of ownership of her crimes or responsibility for her actions.

She wanted to murder Tony Stark for a crime he hadn’t committed, not even peripherally, and held zero responsibility for, a fact that had been decisively proven and then verified. Moreover, she was unhinged to the point of actual insanity and would so clearly do whatever it took to achieve that goal, truth and reality be damned, that even the people who hated Tony and, under normal circumstances would gladly help her kill him, were sickened.

Shonski, remarkably unflustered, sighed in tandem with Tony as they ignored her tantrum. “As we expected, I’m afraid. But she deserved the chance,” he announced to the room at large before turning to the jury and offering the foreman two folders that were clearly old and well-used behind the official UN seal. “These are the original files on Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, as well as the information about their parents’ association with Freedom for Sokovia, provided by the Sokovian government and authenticated as legitimate by three different sources, two of them outside the UN, and it will verify everything you’ve just seen. Do you require privacy to reach a verdict?”

The jury was, to a man, stunned and highly disturbed, but also resolute. The foreman recovered quickly and, after taking a silent but quick poll, refused the folders with a single raised hand. Shonski was noticeably surprised but made no objection; he simply laid them back down on his bench and then waited patiently as the man turned to fully face the other eleven members. He still didn’t speak, but it was obvious what he was asking . . . and equally obvious that to the entire room that the verdict was unanimous, confirmed by each person’s lifted right hand.

In keeping with the formalities of the court, he still had to announce it when he turned back to Shonski. “No, Mr. President. Our verdict has been reached and it is unanimous. We find Wanda Maximoff guilty on all charges, and agree with the request and recommendation for her immediate execution,” he announced grimly, giving the woman a contemptuous but wary look that was definitely justified when she tried to lunge for him, murder in her eyes, only to be stopped by the android standing behind her.

Rogers’ howls of protest were so efficiently gagged, it impressed both Rhodes and the Russians, and Vision had already bound Wanda’s emotions again, adding a gag as well this time, which she was screaming into. Obviously, she was aware and coherent enough to understand what was happening and what was being said, but he was actively blocking her access to her abilities so she didn’t kill them all with one of her little magical temper tantrums, should one of her power surges finally overwhelm Tony’s restraints. That effort, however, forced him to release his grip on her emotions, to the fear and revulsion of those attending her trial.

Her fanatical hatred and unhinged desire for Tony’s death was . . . disturbing . . . to feel, and he summoned his armor as a precaution, though his face was almost serene. But her trial had been fairly conducted and the verdict openly rendered, so the Sokovian representatives swallowed hard, nodded respectfully first to the jury, then Shonski, quietly thanked Vision, and hauled a still-screaming but otherwise unresisting Maximoff to her feet and down the aisle to the door.

Then the ambassador did something unexpected. He stopped in front of a legally, officially blameless, quietly victorious Tony Stark . . . and offered a small but sincere bow.

“Given the grievous harm she has done to you personally, Dr. Stark, my government decided it was only right to offer you the chance to execute her,” he told Tony, eyes never wavering, even when Maximoff shrieked into her gag again, an objection echoed by Steve Rogers, and vainly attempted to fight her way free as the room shook around them and a few window panes cracked before Vision wrestled her back under his control.

Once again, silence fell — and even Tony Stark, one of the world’s most unflappable people, looked shocked.

He also looked very, very tempted.

But after a few minutes of contemplation, in which the entire room warily eyed Wanda and absentmindedly ignored Rogers’ muffled shouts, he slowly shook his head. “Thank you for the . . . respect . . . you’ve afforded me, but her crimes against her — your — people and your country far outweigh those she committed against me. I leave her fate to you, though I do request that either myself or War Machine, Colonel James Rhodes, be a witness when her sentence is carried out.”

He got another respectful bow, this one considerably deeper, and an equally respectful reply of, “Of course, Dr. Stark. Once again, your humanity and your generosity are clear to see. Thank you and we’ll send a message when it’s time.”

Nothing more was said; the quartet left, frog-marching a panicking but still-restrained Wanda between them, while Vision followed to act as a failsafe, and all eyes were on the group as they exited the courtroom with quiet dignity.

She would be dead within the hour and the entire world would heave a sigh of pure relief.

Once she was gone, Tony turned to Rogers, deactivated his suit, gave him the most obnoxious smile in his arsenal, and, in an equally-obnoxious singsong voice, intoned, “I told you so. I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO, YOU SANCTIMONIOUS PRICK!”

With that expression of bitter vindication finally off his chest, he paused and took several deep breaths before looking back at the holier-than-thou, hypocritical liar who had made his life miserable for four years before betraying him on every possible level. Eyes black with hate, he spat, “Remember the eighteen times I tried to show you the proof that it wasn’t one of SI’s bombs and you called me a liar and told me to take responsibility for my war-mongering and wanton, reckless destruction for the first time in my life? Remember how you ordered me to stop being mean to that poor kid, that helpless waif, whose family I murdered and life I ruined because I was just so selfish and so careless about being the Merchant of Death, and to give her everything she ever wanted in a never-ending attempt to purge my guilt? Remember the 29 times I tried to show you evidence that she fucked with my head in that bunker and you and Romanova both told me to get my ego under control, because I wasn’t important enough for her to target since you were there? Any of that ringing a bell, Captain America?”

Those baby blue eyes hardened not with guilt, but with fury . . . a fury that crashed into Tony’s and rocketed him into an incandescent rage that was so powerful but so tightly controlled, several people peed themselves out of pure fear.

“I have one thing to say to you, Steve,” he breathed, eyes burning with the passionate fires of revenge and long overdue justice, and the entire room went dead quiet again. The temperature also spiked and flames threatened to break out along the windows, because Tony’s wrath was a palpable thing and the entire world knew that it, and he, were completely, totally justified.

If he decided to execute Rogers right that second, not a single objection would be raised, considered, or even thought.

And Steve Rogers knew it.

He still didn’t back down.

Despite being gagged and handcuffed, his posture screamed his insolence and disregard for the evidence so clearly presented to him, to Wanda, to the world, and his contemptuous sneer had more than a few people hoping that Tony would finally snap and kill him on the spot.

However, though he was a gifted showman when necessary, Tony Stark was extremely disciplined. More than that, he hated Steve Rogers with an intensity that could not be satisfied with anything less than the utter devastation of his entire life.

“You and your mind-raping trial run for Barnes might have shared the madness of fanaticism and the false narrative that I’m the sole source of all evil in the world, but you aren’t suffering from folie à deux any more than she is, despite your pitiful hope to use that excuse to squirm your way out of finally getting the justice you and we so richly deserve,” Tony hissed, eyes suddenly brightening to gold, with flecks of red swirling in them, and thinly rimmed in black. It was the only physical indication of the power he wielded and it was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He was implacable in his triumph as he destroyed the nonexistent ground Rogers had claimed as his last stand and it was magnificent to see.

“No. You don’t get that ‘get out of jail free’ card,” he declared, unblinking gaze never leaving those cold blue eyes as he clearly relished every syllable. “Those delusions are all you, they’ve always been you, and her, and it’s finally time for both of you to pay the piper. What goes around, comes around, you worthless waste of everything human, and I mean that literally. Your pet witch isn’t worth my time, but I asked for the right to deal with you and my request was granted. Unanimously.”

He paused for just a few seconds to let Rogers absorb the true meaning of that statement, eyes blazing with rage, hurt, a glimmer of sorrow, a lifetime of betrayal, and the conviction of a just — and justified — man before swearing in a low, raspy voice, “You are going to die in a fire built in that thrice-damned shield while I toast S’mores over your ashes, inside an abandoned HYDRA bunker in Siberia.”

He picked up the microphone on the witness stand, dropped it directly at Rogers’ feet, and stalked out of the tomb-quiet courtroom. Rhodes silently accompanied him and Happy Hogan met him at the door. None of them missed a stride or gave a single glance behind them, so they missed the horror that filled those baby blue eyes when the man realized what Tony was talking about.

But just before they left, one last whisper floated across the room, heard only by Rogers . . . and finally, finally, struck genuine fear into his heart.

“Karma’s a bitch, Rogers, and so are you. We know every one of your secrets — and we know all of your lies. My S’mores will be chocolate butterscotch and our roasting spit will be a certain metal arm; the owner despises you and hates it and willingly donated it, so it’s going to give us a hand.”

James Rhodes’ smile was positively terrifying as he followed Tony out of the room, and he relished hearing Rogers’ furious cry of denial when he realized what that ominous promise meant.

One didn’t hurt Tony Stark, or betray him, and escape unscathed. It might take a while, but Tony’s people always exacted revenge when he couldn’t . . . or believed he shouldn’t.

But when he did feel that he could claim the right . . .

Folie à deux, doesn’t always mean mutual delusions or shared hallucinations or a corresponding fake reality. Sometimes, the shared madness is that of revenge, of vengeance, of righteous retribution.

Of justice.

The fires of that shared madness, flames they deliberately coaxed into life under the foolish — and deadly — assumption that they could control the inferno, incinerated Steve Rogers and Wanda Maximoff . . . and then it burned everything they had ever cherished to ashes.

From those ashes, a new meaning, an evolved understanding, would rise as a rallying cry for those who have been wronged and left to suffer by those who should have been their support, their foundation, their source of strength when life has taken everything else.

Folie à deux: a madness for justice shared by two.

~~~
fin

Chapter Text

Blood of My Blood

When Tony Stark kills Steve Rogers — with his own shield in a dirty hit to the chest after knocking him flat on his back with a set of very specifically aimed repulsor blasts, because he’s a coward who knows full well he can’t win without cheating — he fully expects to wake up in heaven, justified and vindicated, even martyred, in his righteousness. Why else would Tony kill him, if not to stop the world from realizing that Steve was right?

So seeing an unending stretch of color that looks unnervingly like blood is jarring. And very unexpected.

Hearing a feminine throat clearing behind him makes him jerk around, eyes wide in both bewilderment and residual confusion. He knows that voice, but for the life of him, can’t quite remember why. A strong feeling of nostalgia rises in his chest, which only feeds his confusion, and he’s wracking his brain as he turns, trying to remember who the voice belongs to.

Partway through his turn, he gets a look at his arm.

And freezes, horror rushing through him.

Instead of a lean, strong forearm and big, powerful hands, he sees the skinny digits and stick limbs that used to be his body, in those awful days where he was Useless Stevie, Sickly Stevie, Target-of-Every-Bully-in-Town Stevie.

Never Good Enough Stevie.

Dizziness washes over him and he staggers, unable to believe that God would be so cruel as to make him suffer heaven in his useless old body, especially after all the good he’d done as Captain America, all the lives he’d saved and the corruption he’d stopped.

“Steven Grant Rogers! You will look at me right this instant or so help me, I’ll take a wooden spoon to your behind the way I should have done when you were a child!” an achingly familiar voice snaps. Muscle memory makes Steve pivot to face the speaker before his mind can finish processing.

And there, in the radiance of youth, strength, and understated beauty she’d never been allowed to truly enjoy in life, is Sarah Rogers.

His mother.

And she is furious.

But Steve has no chance to process this, much less greet her with joy and a hug that will finally feel right, with him enfolding her in his strong arms instead of her supporting her sickly, weak, useless son because he’s too unsteady on his feet after one of his constant coughing fits.

“What in the name of all that’s holy is wrong with you?!” she thunders, eyes blazing with a light that makes him cringe instinctively, even as he mentally reels, trying to understand why she’s shouting at him. “I know I wasn’t around nearly enough, but I also know that I taught you right from wrong. Respect was a lost cause from the minute you realized that you were never going to be big or strong, but I’ve been trying for almost a century to figure out why you think it’s okay to lie to people, steal from them, use them, bully them, betray them, murder or hurt them if they don’t agree with you . . . and I can’t. I can’t understand why my own son turned into someone the Red Skull and Adolph Hitler would proudly claim as a contemporary.”

Her voice drops to a choked whisper on her last words and they make Steve stagger back so hard, he trips over his own feet and lands painfully on his butt on ground that is unexpectedly squishy, staring at his enraged, heartbroken mother in absolute horror and even deeper confusion.

Lying? Stealing? Betraying? Bullying?! Murdering?!

His mind literally cannot process any of this, though he doesn’t get the chance to express it.

“I am so ashamed to be your mother, it actually hurts,” she snarls, sorrow vanishing in the heat of her anger. “Your father can’t bring himself to speak to you, because you were so young when he died that he had nothing to do with raising you — but also because he’s so disgusted at what you became that he willingly gave up his only chance to see you. He . . . I . . . what is wrong with you?!” she whisper-shrieks, advancing on him in a way that makes him scuttle back out of pure instinct; he knows from his childhood that a firm spanking with a wooden spoon is in his future if he doesn’t stay out her reach, and most of his brain is gibbering with an old, primal fear.

But not all.

Indignation swells up and he stops trying to get away, forcing himself to stand instead, glaring at her with anger threaded with hurt and backed by resentment. She’d never understood his frustration at being so small and sickly and useless as a child, and she’d certainly never offered any sympathy. How dare she judge him now, when she knows nothing of what he’s been forced to endure and overcome?

“Do you have the slightest idea why we’re surrounded by blood, Steve?” his mother demands before he can organize his thoughts and defend himself.

Just like Tony used to do.

. . . wait, blood?

Remembering his initial impression of his surroundings, Steve takes another look and . . . well, yes, it does like disturbingly like blood . . . and he’s calf-deep in it. Now that she’s called his attention to it, the taste and smell are also starting to overwhelm those senses.

“This, Steven, is the blood of every single innocent you have harmed,” Sarah snarls, beautiful features twisted with — no, that can’t be hate. She’s his mother! She loves him!

Wait.

“Innocents? I haven’t hurt any innocent people!” Steve objects weakly, breathless in his shock at such a ridiculous, mean accusation. The very idea is absurd! He’s Captain America! He’s the symbol of justice and righteousness, so it’s impossible for him to have hurt innocent people, and just as impossible for his beloved mother to make such a hateful accusation.

Could — could this be a trick? Could it be that he isn’t talking to his mother, but some kind of demon? Or maybe an alien; he knows that Loki can change his form.

“Don’t bother, Ma Sarah,” a painfully familiar voice sneers . . . and Steve freezes.

It can’t be.

It’s not possible.

Bucky isn’t dead.

He can’t be. Steve will not allow it.

If Tony cowardly murdered him after killing Steve because he was throwing one of his petulant tantrums, Steve will force himself back to life and kill Tony — with his bare hands this time.

“He’s incapable of seeing any of his actions for what they really are, never mind himself,” Bucky continues, his familiar voice filled with an unfamiliar disgust and vicious contempt that rattles Steve even more than seeing his long-dead mother in this place. “He honestly thinks that he’s never wrong and everything he wants and does is righteous and good. It won’t even register with him that the reason I’m here is because he killed the last vestiges of Bucky in that bunker. Hell, he’s probably still blaming Stark for everything.”

This bitter, hateful observation hits Steve hard and fast, not least because Bucky — his Bucky — has just accused Steve of killing him, and he staggers back several steps, hands flailing uselessly in an attempt to defend himself against . . . he doesn’t even know. Bucky, his best friend ‘til the end of the line, would never hurt him or stand against him, and neither would his mother. Steve would stake his life on that.

And yet . . . here they are. Accusing him of horrible things and blaming him for things he hasn’t done and telling him he’s wrong — and suddenly, the Howling Commandoes are there. His first team. His real team.

But none of them say a word to Steve, though they don’t need to. Every single man wears the same expression of contempt and disgust, looks that are so out of place and unnatural on a group of men who had followed him and had given their lives for each other — including him. Then, as if their cold silence isn’t enough, they turn their backs to him as one unit, completely shutting him out and denying him. Without so much as a word, they are accusing Steve of murdering them, too, and . . . no, this isn’t right. It can’t be.

More and more, Steve is certain this is a cruel trick perpetuated by Loki or maybe some new villain Tony foolishly allied himself with as a way to get his revenge on Steve, because Steve is a good man. His family and friends wouldn’t betray him like this.

They wouldn’t.

A deep sigh cuts into his thoughts and his head jerks up, eyes wide as his mother gives him another cold, disapproving look. Her eyes are full of scorn and disappointment and seeing it makes something twinge deep in Steve’s stomach.

Because he is intimately familiar with Sarah’s disappointed expression; he’d seen it nearly every day of his adolescent years, the disappointment she suffered from having a weak, useless son, until she got too sick to really pay him any attention, at least. And then she died and he was left alone to fight the bullies and desperately try to claim his place in the Army so he could prove he was a man, that he was good enough to join them and battle the world’s evil.

That he wasn’t useless and worthless.

“You’re right, Jimmy,” she sighs, turning away from her son and pulling an involuntary whimper of loss from him, something that manages to make its way past the knot of fear and resentment and confusion in his throat — and is utterly ignored by Sarah and Bucky. “He’s always been arrogant and disrespectful, from the minute he learned to talk, but even in my worst nightmares, I never imagined this. Thank heaven I died before he destroyed our family’s memory and legacy. And thank God he never had children,” she finishes, venom dripping from every word.

The sheer cruelty hits Steve like a punch to the throat and he reels back again, vaguely aware he’s gasping, “No! Nononono!” as he desperately flails, both mentally and physically, to find some balance in this place that must surely be hell.

Even though it can’t be. Steve is good. He’s righteous. He’s Captain America.

He’s earned the right to go to heaven and he won’t accept anything else.

“Indeed,” another painfully-familiar voice sighs and Steve reels back when Abraham Erskine steps in to the blood-soaked field, his face drawn tight with . . . that can’t be disappointment. It can’t be. He chose Steve because he’s a good man, the only one who was worthy of the chance to become great (good becomes great). Isn’t his survival proof of that? An evil man would have died during the process. But Steve didn’t. He survived. He thrived. And then he saved the world.

“His actions and lack of remorse have murdered my memory as vell. Hence my presence in zhis place,” the gentle scientist continues, sounding so bitter that Steve can’t keep from flinching. No — no, this isn’t right. It isn’t real. He isn’t being bullied and falsely accused by his mother and his best friend and the only other man who ever saw something worthy in him when he was scrawny and weak and useless. This is all a figment of his imagination.

Then Erskine turns his attention to Steve and the look on his face is so terrible, it takes all his strength to keep from falling to his knees. “I varned you zhat bad became vorse, but in your arrogance and your hubris, instead of heeding zhe varning, you deluded yourself zhat you had no ‘bad’ at all, no flaws, and had in fact become zhe embodiment of moral perfection.”

Icy silence descends after that vicious pronouncement, one Steve doesn’t have the slightest idea how to break, but then the doctor continues and shatters his world again.

“Still, I suppose it’s not right to make you shoulder all zhe blame. My judgment was badly compromised after Schmidt, so I overlooked all zhe red flags you should have triggered because I vanted to believe zhat you were vhat you portrayed yourself to be: a morally upstanding man who vouldn’t abuse your power because you knew too well vhat it was like to have it used against you.”

A slow shake of Erskine’s head is accompanied by slumped shoulders and a deep sigh. “I should have listened to Philips; zhe man was a superb judge of character and he varned us all zhat choosing you vould end badly. But you played zhe part so vell that I let myself be fooled. So bad became vorse. You destroyed my name, my legacy, and my life’s vork in zhe name of being ‘right’. And zhe death and destruction you’ve so blithely caused in my name is incalculable.”

. . . no. No, that’s not right. Steve is — he’s a good person! He’s a good man who became great and saved the world, sacrificing everything to do it. And when he was given another chance, he saved the world again. And again. He stopped Loki, he destroyed HYDRA, he killed ULTRON, he defended Bucky and the world against Tony Stark and the corrupt governments who just wanted to use him as their personal attack dog.

He’s a hero, dammit! He will not be looked down on like this, especially not by men who are long dead and know nothing about his life or the awful future he’s been trapped in through no fault of his own and his struggle to find his place in this new world.

“Typical arrogant fool,” another voice jeers. This one is also known to Steve and he feels himself pale as he pivots to face the newcomer, slips, and falls to his knees in the deep pool of red liquid. His hands are coated with it and the impact splashes several drops on his face as well . . . but his move to wipe it away stops when that same voice hisses, “That’s more like it. The Betrayer, the Murderer, the Deceiver, finally covered in the blood of his victims. Tell me, Steve, did you even register my death? Or was the lure of the past the only thing your extremely limited number of brain cells could process?”

The shock of seeing and hearing Howard Stark is all Steven can think about for several minutes, during which time a woman who is striking but not one of Howard’s usual beauties appears next to him. Her face is vaguely familiar, but Steve is too stunned at seeing Howard to pay her much mind.

And then his old friend’s cruel, ugly barb about his intelligence finally sinks in and Steve sees red.

He has lived a good life, one that was moral and right and in the service of the people, and after he was unjustly executed by a man he had called ‘friend’, a man who had sold him out and betrayed him, instead of receiving his reward and going to heaven, he is stranded in this blood-soaked purgatory and tormented by the people who are supposed to love and support him?

Once again, he’s rudely interrupted before he can rally enough to actually talk. “No, that’s giving you too much credit,” Howard snaps, face contorted with rage. “You positively reveled in having something over Tony, something to use against him because you think my son is a bully who didn’t worship you the way you deserved, so you had to keep him under your boot. For his own good, of course. And since his money was all blood money, he owed it to you to do something good with it — or he just owed it to you. Right?”

Taking his own shield full in the chest hadn’t hurt this much and Steve can’t do anything but gape in horrified, agonizing disbelief, though he can’t deny those bitter assertions.

“Now, Howard, you know his Neanderthal brain can’t handle that many big words. And he certainly can’t handle the knowledge that he might be wrong about something,” the unknown woman chides, laying her hand on his arm. Steve might as well not exist for all the attention the woman shows him, which bothers him.

Her words earn a nod of agreement and some grumbling from Howard before he turns to Bucky, a genuine smile splitting his lips.

“How are you, Sergeant?” he asks, sounding positively jovial, and Steve’s jaw drops — and then Bucky grins just as widely in response and the pair shake hands and exchange what sounds like sincere pleasantries, with Howard introducing the woman as his wife, Maria, who blushes prettily when Bucky gives her that carefree, appreciative smile of old before he sighs and his face darkens.

He throws an angry scowl at Steve, then says to Howard, “Well, I’m not too thrilled that my supposed ‘best friend’ murdered my memory, but you know how that feels and it’s not like he’s gonna listen to what we said, so let’s get out of here. There are several thousand people waiting for their chance and, frankly, we all have better things to do. You’ve been promising us a flying car since ’44 and now you’ll finally have the chance to make it work.”

Erskine perks up from where he’d been commiserating quietly with Sarah and turns a stony glare on Steve before pivoting to face Howard and asking, “May I accompany you? I heard a little about zhis flying car around zhe base, but never anything specific.”

“Of course,” Howard replies without hesitation.

And they just . . . disappear.

Howard, the Maria woman, Erskine.

The Howlies.

Bucky.

His mother.

None of them says another word to Steve or even gives him another look. They just abandon him in this blood-soaked purgatory after hurling vicious, ugly lies and accusations at him and never once letting him explain or defend himself.

He’s just worked himself into a good rant about bullies — because someone has to be listening — when his surroundings . . . ripple . . . and suddenly, he is completely enclosed by a sea of people: young adults, teenagers, people on canes and walkers and wheelchairs, children, babies, even — he has to swallow down bile when he realizes that he sees several figures that look like a baby but aren’t quite right, like they’d been born early or were malformed, maybe. He even spots several dogs and cats and horses and a few other animals. All of them are injured in some way, ranging from deep bruising to gaping chest wounds and amputated limbs.

And every single individual is howling for his blood.

Literally.

Wait.

Not all of them. His now-useless hearing manages to pick up the pitiful sounds of small, childish voices mournfully crying, and the blind despair in them is . . . jarring. He doesn’t know what to think, how to react, because this isn’t real and he isn’t a murderer, he didn’t kill these people.

He didn’t.

He’s so caught up in his denial that the butterfly touch on his left arm has him spinning to face his attacker, his body instinctively falling into a fighting stance that collapses even as it forms because his useless body and worthless lungs can’t support him. As he staggers in an effort to keep his balance, the mob jeers in vicious glee at his obvious trouble and his jaw tightens at the mockery.

He will not be disrespected, no matter what people think he did or didn’t do. He is Captain America, and he will be treated as such.

“How come you didn’t think I should be born?”

The voice is tiny, a child’s, and that uncertain, plaintive question stops him in his tracks, if only for a few seconds. A sharp turn of his head shows him a tiny, tiny baby, one who can’t possibly have been born yet, lying on its — no, his — back and looking up at him . . . only there is something horribly wrong. His whole body looks . . . crumpled, almost, or maybe crushed, and the sight brings bile to Steve’s throat. No child should look like it’s been in a warzone, especially not a helpless babe.

But it’s the unwavering accusation in those newborn blue eyes that makes him falter.

“Why didn’t I deserve the chance to live?”

Silence falls, complete and terrifying.

Steve has no answer.

Then the mob roars, rallying to the call of their youngest and most helpless. And in the few seconds he has before it reaches him, Steve hears his mother and Bucky and Howard and Erskine and the Howlies all sneer, “Unworthy,” in eerie harmony. Despite everything that’s happened since he arrived here, that final rejection shatters the broken foundation he’s been teetering on and he isn’t able to recover his balance or his composure.

Not that it would have made a difference.

Steve doesn’t even have the chance to blink, much less process the horrifying truth that every one of the people surrounding him is someone who genuinely believes that he specifically hurt or killed them before the mob swarms him and he is overpowered immediately. Unlike his mother and Bucky and Howard and Erskine, these people have no interest in talking, not even to bully him or accuse him of things he hasn’t done. They couldn’t care less about his reasons or knowing why their deaths were necessary and justified because he was protecting Bucky and fighting corruption.

Thousands of people surround him and they are united in their goal of destroying Steve Rogers.

There is no mercy, not even a hint of reprieve, though he wastes a lot of energy trying and failing to shout them down so he can explain. They are brutally ruthless and spare him nothing, and his world quickly becomes a vortex of blood-soaked pain and bloodier accusations. He puts up a valiant fight, but it’s all for nothing and the last thing he sees before his body is forced under the sea of blood he’s trapped in and his vision goes red, then black, is . . . himself.

Except . . . it’s not sickly, scrawny Stevie. It’s Captain America: tall, strong, powerful, good, and righteous.

But there’s something very wrong, because instead of coming down to rescue him, the hero is glaring so hard at Steve, it actually hurts. His features are twisted with rage and contempt and his eyes are blazing with disappointment.

As the mob claws him to pieces, screaming their innocence and loss and howling his guilt and reveling in his pain, Captain America doesn’t lift a finger to help him. He just stands there, arms crossed and now looking grimly satisfied as the man who made him possible is torn apart by all the people who think Steve unjustly killed and hurt them.

The betrayal of his own self is Steve’s breaking point and he stops fighting, unable to reconcile his beliefs about himself with the brutal reality even he can no longer deny, but just before he succumbs, he sees the most astonishing sight.

Tony Stark is now standing at Captain America’s side, tall and proud and clearly welcome. They are so obviously equals that it physically aches to finally begin to realize what he’d thrown away and seeing their solidarity, united in the cause of witnessing the ultimate destruction of their murderer, shatters something deep in Steve’s heart. It should be him standing in righteous judgment, and instead he has been judged and found wanting and there is no rescue for him, no final reprieve.

But the man standing shoulder to shoulder with Captain America isn’t the Tony Stark he knows, the man who mocked him and bullied him and disrespected him and overshadowed him at every turn and tore his family apart and ruined everything Steve had managed to build in this future he despises and finally executed him.

And it isn’t the man that Steve betrayed and devastated and abandoned long before Siberia.

It’s a billion times worse. This is the Tony Stark that Steve would have been worthy to have as a teammate and friend, had he truly been worthy of being Captain America.

Steve Rogers’ final vision is the approving but sorrow-filled face of his first murder, the man he should have been, and the widespread arms beckoning him to his final punishment and the cold, mocking, satisfied smile of the last man he murdered.

And then all he knows is the agony of the flames of justice.

~~~
fin